Gone
by Lindsiria
Summary: Harry Potter was known to be brave, daring and self-sacrificing. He would do anything to protect his friends — even consorting with those he once hated and testing his very integrity. In one fateful moment, this idea is tested, pushed to the limit...
1. The Darkest Hour

**Gone**  
By: Lindsey (Lindsiria)

**Divergence: **Christmas of The Order of the Phoenix  
**Published:** 8/8/2010 – 5835 Words  
**Edited: **8/20/2010 – Grammar and formatting.  
**DISCLAIMER: **As we all know, I do not own Harry Potter as my version would have been much darker and totally not a children's series. I also want to give credit to Friend or Foe by Niger Aquila and Normalcy by notadryeeye for giving me this idea. That and Potterficweekly(dot)com that gave me the courage to post this. Also props to my friend and beta-reader Azureye; without her this story would of never existed. I also want to give credit to my new (and awesome) beta-reader Corpium.

**Gone**  
**Chapter One: The Darkest Hour**

"Come on Harry! Wake up!"

Harry became aware of someone shaking him, calling his name over and over again. This day started out similar to the day before, his friends waking him up.

"Mum wants us downstairs for breakfast."

He blinked open his eyes, reaching for his glasses only to find them forcefully thrust into his hand.

"Come on! Breakfast is ready," his best mate, Ron, excitedly said. Food, one of the few ways to get Ron out of bed in a heartbeat- that, and Christmas (which just so happened to be the day before).

"I'm up," Harry grumbled as he rose from the bed shivering as he lost the heat from his covers.

Seemingly satisfied with Harry's answer, Ron fled the room. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Ron was heading towards breakfast with a giant smile on his face.

Harry trudged down the stairs a few minutes later, still rubbing his eyes to wake himself up.

"Good morning, Harry dear. Come sit down," Mrs. Weasley said as she rushed back to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Harry. I trust you slept well?" Sirius said as he peered over the morning's paper.

Last night, he did sleep well, extremely well. It was one of the first nights since the attack when he was able to sleep without a nightmare of the incident. He figured it was because yesterday they were told that Mr. Weasley would make a complete recovery.

"Good morning," Harry responded to them both, with a nod to Sirius, as he took a seat across from his godfather.

He glanced around the room for the first time that morning. Hermione was picking at her food, absorbed in a book; Ron was, as usual, stuffing his face; Fred and George were bickering over something (most likely their latest product) while Ginny just ate quietly. Her eyes glanced up and caught his, and she gave a friendly smile.

His attention drifted as he heard soft muttering from across the room. Squinting slightly, he noticed Kreacher slowly taking objects from the cabinet and putting them into a small box.

Kreacher never stayed in the same room as Sirius if he had to.

Hermione must have noticed his staring, as she whispered to Harry from the side, "Sirius tried to get Kreacher to serve us breakfast a few minutes before you came down. He accidentally dropped my plate on me." He heard Sirius snort. Yes, Harry could easily believe that Kreacher just _accidentally_ dropped the plate on the one he despised.

"He is just so old!" continued Hermione, ignoring Sirius' snort, "Sirius started yelling at him that if he couldn't show more respect, he would be getting rid of everything his mother owned. Kreacher is trying to hide everything he can, I think."

He glanced back at Kreacher, who was still muttering under his breath as he worked. Unlike Hermione, Harry had no sympathy for the house-elf; he had been nothing but rude since they arrived.

"Is everyone here?" called out Mrs. Weasley from the kitchens before she appeared with more plates of food. She approached them with a smile. "Good, good, you're all here."

She set down the plates and took a seat.

"Harry, go on and grab some food," commanded Mrs. Weasley.

Dutifully, Harry piled food onto his plate and began eating, silently wondering why Mrs. Weasley had called them down so early.

He watched Mrs. Weasley as she gazed around the room, obviously satisfied that the food was being devoured as she began to talk, "This afternoon we will be going to the Burrow." Mrs. Weasley's tone left no room for argument.

"'hy?" said Ron as he chewed.

"Ron!" cried both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, aghast.

"What?" he responded before sheepishly smiling, "Sorry."

Both promptly ignored him as Mrs. Weasley spoke, "There will be an Order meeting here later today, and with you all unable to stay quiet and not _listen in_-" Fred and George looked bashful.

"Mum, you know that we would never listen in on a meeting," said one of the twins.

"Yeah, Mum, don't you have any trust in us?" asked the other.

Glaring at the twins, who failed to hide their smirks, she continued, "-Dumbledore decided that we shall be going to the Burrow today by Floo."

Ron decided to speak up, "Why can't we be in the meeting this time? We all know it's about what Harry saw that night."

"Thanks," mumbled Harry as he shot a glare at Ron for his obvious lack of tact, despite agreeing with what Ron had said.

Mrs. Weasley just looked at her youngest son icily, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the chair. "You all are underage!" she began emphatically, "I will not allow my underage children to be pressured into being involved in the war!" She looked so haunted as she spoke those words.

"What about Harry?" Ron shot back, clueless at how fearful his mother looked. "He should know whats going on, as it is about him!"

"And he will not rush back and tell all of you what happened?" retorted Mrs. Weasley, not even bothering to cover up that the meeting was about him. "You are all too young, including Harry. I was including him when I said I did not want any of you to be pressured."

Harry felt his chest swell; she thought of him like a son. He hated that he disagreed with her right then.

"Mrs. Weasley," he began softly and waited until she focused on him, "I want to know why I'm having these visions. I need to know."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes became watery. "Oh, Harry! You have to deal with so much. Just be a child for now and have fun at the Burrow with the rest."

Harry was about to protest when Sirius decided to enter the conversation, "I've already voiced the matter to Dumbledore. I think you deserve to know what is happening. But he told me 'no, not this time.'"

Harry eyes narrowed. Dumbledore! This whole year Dumbledore had been avoiding him. Dumbledore never stayed in the same room as Harry, let alone even made eye contact. Now, Dumbledore refused to give him the information he desired. What had Harry done?

Harry may not have been a genius like Hermione, but he knew Dumbledore was hiding too much information from him.

Hermione must have noticed his anger building, as she gently laid her hand upon his arm. "Dumbledore will tell you. He might not even know what happened for certain yet."

Harry resigned himself with a sigh, knowing that arguing would be pointless. He was not going to be allowed in the meeting.

Ron, too, had fallen silent after sending a sympathetic glance towards Harry.

"The Order is going to be here soon, so come on and eat quickly!" Mrs. Weasley commanded before flicking her wand. The empty plates rose and floated towards the kitchen.

Harry pushed away his plate, his pancake and eggs only half eaten. He did not feel like eating after learning that the Order was going to be speaking about him behind his back.

Conversations were starting up all around him, but he paid no attention. No one ever understood- no one except Sirius. Sirius knew what it was like- living with the nightmares and blaming yourself for being unable to stop the destruction.

Sirius may have told Harry that he was not turning into Voldemort and that it was he who saved Mr. Weasley's life, but it did not fully comfort him. He felt dirty and weak, unable to do anything but wake up screaming. Why was he able to see into Voldemort's mind? What was making their connection stronger each year? Almost every day his scar gave a shock of pain, telling him that Voldemort was indeed alive and planning.

All throughout the year Harry's thoughts had darkened. He had exploded at his friends for little to no reason at all; he had wished many times for something horrid to happen to Umbridge. _What if I am becoming more like him?_ It was the question that had buried deep into his mind, unwilling to wavier, even after Sirius told him it was not true.

"Harry!" Ron's voice jolted him out of his worries. "Don't look so down, mate. We'll have loads of fun at the Burrow! We can all go flying."

Harry forced a smile, ignoring Hermione's worried look, and nodded his head. "Yeah," he halfheartedly agreed, "We'll have loads of fun."

The table quickly fell silent as Kreacher sluggishly moved across the room, pulling a box of miscellaneous objects behind him.

He was muttering to himself quite loudly as he passed Hermione, sending a glare in her direction.

"Dirty little mudbloods, disgracing the Black name," Keacher croaked, "Giving Kreacher a dirty present. No, Kreacher would not touch the filth-"

"KREACHER!" Sirius stood up angrily, "Apologize now!"

"Yes, Master." He murmured something under his breath as he looked at Hermione with a look of pure hate.

"Sirius, he doesn't need to," Hermione said, "It's fine. He should not be forced to apologize."

Sirius just nodded stiffly as he once again took his seat. "Get out, Kreacher. I do not want to see your face today."

With a slight, but obviously forced, bow, Kreacher disappeared.

Minutes later they all were standing in front of the onyx fireplace, coats in their hands. Fred and George went first, followed soon after by Ginny and Hermione.

Harry could hear laughing voices as the front door opened and the Order members began to arive. So many people would hear the details of his suffering and why it happened, all but him. He had not realized the grim look on his face until Sirius's fingers grasped his shoulder.

"Harry, you are only fifteen. Let us deal with this for once. Go out, have fun, party- be a child like you are." he spoke so softly, his eyes glazed over as if he thought of his own childhood, his own happiness that was torn away in mere hours. "Nothing will happen, go out and be free."

Harry wrapped his arms around his godfather, bringing, the only family member he had left into a hug. Sirius always said the right things.

"Oh, and Harry," Sirius' lips were near his ear, whispering softly, "I'll tell you all I can about the meeting." He pulled away with a wink, his eyes twinkling to match the smile on his face.

Harry couldn't stop the smile breaking out on his face as he entered the Floo with the Floo powder in his hand. He brought his hand downward, tossing the powder at his feet and shouted, "The Burrow!" Before the world dissolved around him and tossed him out at his destination.

"Come on, Harry, Hermione," Ron said, before turning to rush out and grab his broom.

The boys, including Harry, went to go pick out brooms for themselves while the girls headed down to the tree where they flew.

As Harry went to grasp his broom, an all-too-familiar feeling shot through his scar, making it tingle. After a weak grimace of pain, he managed to keep his face lax.

He ignored the pain he was beginning to get used to and grabbed his broom to follow Ron out. Ron had been so excited that he grabbed his broom and raced off, no doubt to be the first one in the air.

Regardless of how much he loved flying, today he was not very interested. He sluggishly began his walk to the tree, his expression blank.

The twins had caught up to Harry and walked next to him.

"Come on Harry, cheer up," Fred said as he swung an arm around him.

"Yeah, it's better being out here than being in a stuffy old house," George added while repeating his brother's action with his own arm.

"But I know it's going to be about me. Everyone knows it!" Harry shrugged off Fred and George's arms rather harshly, his expression dark as he took a few steps forward. His back faced the twins as he blurted, "Why else would they call a meeting, just days after what's happened? I want —" Harry's fists clenched slightly as he shook his head slightly. "—Why can't I be there?" Harry knew his voice sounded faintly like whining, but at the same time, he felt justified —he was at the center of all this mess, and it was going to affect everyone he cared about. He, of all people, needed a seat at that table. "I _deserve_ to know what's happening! I am the one who had to deal with Voldemort-" He ignored the wince both twins made, "almost every single year!"

"Ay mate. That's true," one twin admitted.

"But, you guys will figure it out eventually. You always seem to do so," the other twin butted in.

Harry chuckled darkly, "That's true, we always find out by ourselves because no one every tells us a damn thing until it's too late."

He saw Fred and George share a look, one Harry was unable to interpret as his scar throbbed more intensely this time. He reached out to try to rub the pain away.

The pain seemed to die as he saw Ron freeze at the top of the hill, his face turning a ghastly white.

Ron had frozen as if someone had hit him with the Body-Bind curse and forced him upright until his hand slowly curled into a fist, his nails digging into his skin.

"Ron?" Harry called out worryingly and ran to catch up with his friend, a million thoughts rushing through his mind.

"HARRY, NO!" he heard Hermione scream as he caught up to Ron.

His scar _burned; _it burned so badly that it made him want to sink to his knees. It felt like a million knives were shooting through his body, starting from the scar itself. But that was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his heart and soul when he found out the reason why Ron had frozen.

Ginny was in _Voldemort's_ arms.

_No! No, no, no, no- This couldn't be!_

The dark lord grinned, a cruel and serpentine grin spreading across his face as his sickly, overlong white fingers wrapped around Ginny's throat. Her toes barely touched the ground, and her face was deathly pale — she was able to breathe, but just barely, and every strained breath sent a faint spasm over her face, making Harry's blood run colder and colder. Her eyes were darting back and forth as she struggled in vain to escape his grasp.

So cold — Harry shivered despite himself, despite his vow to never show his weakness to Voldemort, to never back down to the man who murdered his parents and Cedric. But this was _Ginny_, hair wild, clutched by _him_, standing on a too-green field in a too-safe place. If Harry had any illusions remaining about the safety of the Burrow, about the safety of wizarding world, about any fleeting chance of being safe anywhere, ever, they were crushed in that one moment. He would never be safe, and Ginny was about to pay the price for his ignorance.

It was always because of him, they befriended him, and all he could do was put them in danger time and _time _again.

With his free hand, Voldemort presented the scene with a horizontal wave of his arm.

Harry's eyes flickered, not wanting to take his eyes off the Dark Lord, fearing that if he did so, Ginny would be flung aside and murdered.

_A spare. _

That serpent grin was so cocky, so confident, as if he knew he had Harry trapped. The boy hesitantly turned his head and saw the horrifying sight surrounding them.

All around them there were five Death Eaters, each of them wearing cold smiles on their unmasked faces. These had to be the elite, the most trusted of his followers and that included Malfoy.

Tears flowed down Hermione's cheeks as the sixth Death Eater pressed his wand into her neck, her arms wrenched behind her back. She gasped audibly as the Death Eater dug his wand deeper into her flesh as he noticed Harry looking.

Ron snarled behind him after he heard the sob from Hermione, but he did not look as he had only eyes for the two hostages.

"Let her go!" he screamed.

"Or you do what, Weasley?" It was Malfoy Senior's voice that answered.

Hermione's eyes became hard as she shook her head once before it was forced back into place. Her eyes were boring into his; he understood her message and refused to listen. He would not allow her to sacrifice her life or freedom for his.

He jerked his head away, unable to stand the intensity of her gaze and he was automatically staring at Ron whose wand was darting back and forth from the Death Eater who held Hermione and Malfoy who was approaching them.

Fred and George already had their wands pointed at nearby Death Eaters as they stood back to back; for once they had no grins as they stood determined to fight.

His wand felt like lead in his hand as he pointed it at the nearest Death Eater, Malfoy, but he was unable to curse as the consequences could be much too deadly.

"Drop your wands." Malfoy commanded.

Ron's eyes darted to Harry's, shortly followed by Fred and George.

He couldn't listen to the command; he couldn't just give up. Snape had always told him that he was too arrogant to listen to instructions even if they were best for him. He wanted to laugh, laugh because his darkest fears were coming true and laugh because he knew they all relied on him now to make the final decision as they always had before.

Again, he possibly held their lives in the palm of his hand. Why did they always trust him like this?

Harry shook his head slightly, enough to keep Malfoy unaware but clue them in that they would not go down without a fight.

"One," he whispered, as his grip tightened on his wand.

"I said, drop them!"

"Two." He noticed them tense up.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening only to mutter the third word.

"Three!"

"Stupefy!" he yelled as a red beam raced towards Malfoy as Ron screamed, "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego," Malfoy drawled lazily with a simple flick of his wand. Both spells ricocheted off the shield, causing Harry to dive to the ground to escape one.

He was up in an instant just in time to see Malfoy launch a counter-attack as thick brown ropes flew at Ron who dodged just in time.

Fred and George were doing little better as they fought four Death Eaters. They may have been great duelers but they were out numbered.

Harry quickly rejoined the duel, successfully disarming a Death Eater to his left before George was hit with a Body-Bind Curse and fell to the ground. Fred stood over his brother protectively, shooting off spells at anyone who dared to near them.

The fight lasted only a minute before a chilling laughter descended upon them, freezing all of them, including the Death Eaters.

"How Gryffindor," Voldemort spoke out, knowing he had all their attention, "Fighting even though you know it is useless. I see it in your eyes, Harry."

Harry knew that they would be unable to win the battle the moment he decided to fight. He fought to attract attention, to alert someone, anyone; he fought hoping that luck would save them all again, but most of all he fought because he could not give up. He refused to go down quietly.

"I let you have your little playtime. Now drop your wands or-" Voldemort's fingers curled tighter around Ginny's throat as she gasped for air. The meaning was clear.

George (somehow freed in the last few minutes) was the first to drop his wand quickly followed by Fred. It was Ron who held to on his wand the longest, looking at Harry for a sign, any sign or plan that would save them all. Desperation lined Ron's face and all Harry could do was shake his head, and with a defeated look, Ron dropped his wand.

No one seemed to care that Harry still held his wand as they grabbed the three Weasleys.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Amusement radiated off the Dark Lord.

Voldemort glanced around as his smile turned into a frown, "I had heard that the mother blood traitor was here as well; I feel as if we are missing a guest. Ignaas?"

"Yes, My Lord?" said the Death Eater to the right of Voldemort, one of two that did not hold a hostage.

"Go fetch her for me."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Don't touch our mum!" George and Fred said simultaneously as the Death Eater Apparated.

Mrs. Weasley must have been completely unaware of the situation happening outside her very home as it took less than a minute for the Death Eater to return with a resounding pop.

The moment they appeared, the Death Eater dropped her, seemingly not wanting to touch the _blood-traitor_ for any longer than necessary.

Mrs. Weasley had been stunned, her face full of surprise. She had no chance to even fight. This spell could have easily been the killing curse.

The Death Eater waved his wand over her body once and she awoke, jumping up and reaching for her wand- that was not there. The moment she realized she was unarmed her face jolted upwards to see her wand in the hand of a Death Eater.

She jerked around, seeing her boys and crying out, then seeing Hermione and Harry before finally Ginny.

"Ginny!" she cried out, her voice filled with so much pain. Harry could already see the tears forming in her eyes as she locked eyes with her daughter.

"Ah, how nice of you to join us, Molly Weasley." the serpentine voice said amusingly, "we could not have started without you."

"What do you want?" Ms. Weasley questioned, her voice breaking. She looked at Voldemort in the eyes, the only Weasley to do so that day.

He ignored her as if she was worth nothing, turning his head to look at Harry. "It amazes me how Dumbledore left the precious Boy-Who-Lived so under protected. Did he really think these wards would stop me, the greatest wizard of all time?"

"What do you want!" Harry shouted, his wand shooting off golden sparks that scorched the grasses surrounding him. "Stop playing with us!"

Voldemort's face glowed at Harry's brazen words and actions. "Why not, Harry?" he inquired lightly. "Can you take down me, the greatest wizard of all time — and his followers — without allowing any one of your little _friends_ to come to harm?" As he spoke, he ran a cool finger down Ginny's cheek, grinning as she squirmed away from the chill touch.

Voldemort was right. Harry could not possibly win against Lord Voldemort and his followers even if it was just them and him. Voldemort, at this moment, could do anything he wanted and Harry was nearly powerless to stop it.

The finger that slid down Ginny's cheek had stopped and Voldemort's attention was shifted from Harry to Ginny. He leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear as he held her in place.

"I've heard all about you, Ginevra. The only Weasley daughter in generations and the one who happened to write in my diary. How was it? Meeting me, that is?"

Ginny did not say anything, trying appear brave and unafraid but her whole body trembled. Slowly, she spat out, "Horrible."

That sly smile faded on Voldemort's face, his eyes hardening. The hand around Ginny's neck had tightened, and Ginny began to choke, gasping for air.

"Let her go!" Harry shouted, desperate to save Ginny from Voldemort's wrath, "Let them go. You can have me." He was begged as he dropped to his knees. Death would be so much better than living to watch his friends slowly die.

"I'll let you kill me; just let them go!"

Voldemort hand relaxed and he began to laugh, a slow and quiet chuckle.

"You will allow me to kill you, Harry?" he questioned, his tone full of amusement, "do you think that I, Lord Voldemort, could only kill you if you allow me too? If I wished you to be dead, you already would be."

Harry did not care about how he looked, weak and cowardly on the ground. He was just thankful that he had managed to divert Voldemort's attention away from Ginny. The color of her face was returning; those freckles that once stood out on that pale white skin faded as tones of pink dotted her cheeks.

He picked himself off the ground, slowly working himself back in an upright position. "What do you want?" Harry dead voice repeated. He was sick of playing by Voldemort's terms.

"You, my dear boy." It was suppose to be a phrase of happiness, a term one said to a son or grandchild, not by a Dark Lord. It was wrong, a mockery that he had no parents, that he was not a boy to anyone.

"I want your loyalty."

His world shifted. Voldemort had come not to kill him but to get him as his _servant? _He did not even contemplate his answer, answering it just as he did his first year, "Never."

Voldemort must have predicted his answer, as the smirk on his face grew bigger, his white, sharp teeth peeking through.

"Are you sure, Harry? I could just imagine the headlines of the Daily Prophet tomorrow. 'Holiday Massacre of the Weasleys.'"

He wanted to say, no you wouldn't, and deem it impossible, but he knew that Voldemort, could very well massacre them all.

"The days after Christmas is a time for festivities, playing with the new gifts, spending time with the family-"_ Innocent children and families, fathers at the table reading news papers. _

His voice had been so sarcastic, drawing out how happy the world would be.

"_-_but yesterday a horrifying event took place in the wizarding world for one family. Half a family, slaughtered by what we think to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers.-" _Blood pooled on the ground, broken and mangled bodies scattered across the once beautiful fields of The Burrow. _

Voldemort took a sick joy, grinning a nasty ear-to-ear grin, in the show he was presented, the fear growing on each of the Weasleys' and Harry's faces.

"The Weasley's were avid supporters of muggleborn and muggles and it is believe that followers of Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, lead by the notorious Sirius Black-" _His godfather, unable to ever be free, locked up in his home or Azkaban- nearly the same. _

"_-_broke through the wards and killed all but four Weasleys, who were not present at the time-" _Arthur, Charlie, Bill and Percy- tears streaming down their faces. "Why did they have to die?" Another broken family, his once picturesque family. _

"_-_A young muggleborn witch was also killed during the slaughter.-" _Hermione. She would shoot off spells no one else would know the names of but slowly be ripped to pieces. She was never a dueler. _

Hermione was crying, struggling to escape the Death Eaters grasp. They all were. Harry would do anything. Anything to stop this terrible nightmare from happening.

"_-_It is known that Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were the best friends of the Boy-Who-Lived.-" _Ron would be a true Gryffindor, trying to give Hermione a chance to escape but later clinging onto her as their tears mixed with their blood. No hope, only pain and death. _

"An Auror that investigated the scene reports: 'Oh it was horrible! The bodies were mutilated, almost unrecognizable-'"_ Mrs. Weasley first, died trying to protect her family. Screaming, like his own mum, "__please no, take me, kill me instead- have mercy, please have mercy." _

_The twins dying side-by-side, unable to leave each other even in death. _

_Ginny, her body beaten, nothing left intact. They would break her and make her wish for death before ever giving it. _

"-It was hor-"

"-STOP IT!" Harry couldn't take it anymore, the faces and screams that filled his head. "Just stop it!"

"Are you willing to rethink the offer?" Voldemort asked with a voice like silk, that awful smirk still on his face and that hand still resting lightly upon Ginny's throat, a reminder that he could easily end her life.

"You wanted to kill me for so long. Why?" Death was a simple choice to serve him or die, something he did not fear as his parents did the exact same. But this time he did not have the choice, to serve or die. He did not want to give any answer, not even want to admit what he would do to save them. Anything to stall, to wait until help came or luck to bless them.

"After you escaped me last year, I realized many things. You are a powerful wizard, Harry.-" He had been told this many times, but it was a lie. He could not even protect the ones he cared about most. "-You had triumphed over me in your first year, yes, by your own luck and your mother's sacrifice, but your bravery was outstanding. I have heard tales of you banishing dozens of Dementors in your third year alone with magic many trained wizards are unable to grasp. I felt it that night we dueled as our wands connected. You are powerful."

He was not powerful, never powerful. He had a few skills in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he never wanted to do anything. It was always forced upon him, and he did what he had to do.

"After I was revived, Lucius told me of your second year and how you defeated the Basilisk in the Chamber. Impressive indeed."

Voldemort moved closer, dragging Ginny with him. Each step closer made Harry's scar throb in pain until it was nearly unbearable. Voldemort was standing just a few feet away, staring down at him.

He flicked his wand once, creating a bubble that drained the world surrounding them of noise.

"Why can you see into my familiar's mind? I, also, have reason to believe you might be able to see into mine. How far does our little connection go?" He spoke only to Harry, his voice quiet but demanding.

Harry shivered; he had pondered this question so many times. How far did the connection go? How similar were they?

"I know of your past, how similar to mine. Two children, both half-bloods and orphans and raised by muggles. Both are powerful and are leaders. We both speak Parseltongue, an extremely rare gift and we even share brother cores. We are similar, very similar." His tone, again, was like silk, wrapping itself around Harry. So many had fallen into this darkness without ever knowing.

"We are not alike," Harry shot back, wanting to believe in that with all his being. Voldemort just smirked and turned away, dragging Ginny back with him as she watched him with wide-eyes.

He flicked his wand again and the world came back to life.

He could hear the muffled sobs from Ms. Weasley and the harsh spoken curses from the twins but nothing from Ron as he stared at the scene, his face abnormally blank.

"Harry Potter, I offer you a place in my circle," Voldemort announced, and Harry noticed all the Death Eaters smirking, "Do you accept?"

Harry glanced around frantically, all eyes now upon him. One more minute and someone would check on them. Dumbledore would realize something was happening. He had to. Everyone was silent, including the Weasleys, as they waited.

"No! Don't-" shouted Hermione before she was roughly slapped.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, "Don't touch her, you bastard!"

One by one the Weasley's spoke out, shouting names at the Death Eater and Voldemort.

Voldemort shouted, "Quiet!" That smirk that had nearly rested upon his face the whole meeting was gone. His thin and sickly lips were tight and his red eyes were glowing.

The Weasleys still spoke, but no sound came from their lips.

"Maybe the story was not enough for them-" His long thin wand touched Ginny's cheek, pressing a dimple into her skin. "-but a demonstration."

The curse may have been silent but Harry knew exactly when he started. Ginny's body arched and her eyes closed. He could see her teeth clewing on her lips, trying to keep the pain to herself.

Voldemort pressed his wand deeper into her cheek, and she screamed, a high pitched squeal that sent terror down his spine. Her face was ashen, her lips covered in blood, and a bruise was forming around her neck from her first torture.

"Stop it!" Harry screamed once again, unable to watch his friends be tortured in front of him. "I'll do it," it was just a whisper as he fell to his knees defeated, his head hanging downwards. "I will join you."

Instantly the screams ended.

"Excellent Harry. I knew you would see it my way."

Ginny was being held up by the Dark Lord. Her face was tight and her eyes were still closed as she savored air and painlessness.

"Now throw your wand to me."

Harry glanced at his wand but did nothing. "Let them go."

"Give me your wand, and I will."

Regretfully, Harry did as he was told and threw his only weapon to the feet of the Dark Lord.

Voldemort let go of Ginny, tossing her to Mrs. Weasley who grabbed Ginny with open arms, clinging to her like she was a newborn babe. One-by-one; Ron, Fred, George and Hermione were released and pushed towards the mother and daughter.

Harry wanted to reach out to them as two sets of arms grabbed his arms and wretched his shoulders back.

The initial instinct to struggle died quickly when he saw Ginny and Ms. Weasley still clinging to each other as the rest watched somberly. They were free, everything would be okay.

**AN Note: **Hey, thanks for reading my first story. I hope you like it! If you do, drop by a review- they make me feel important. XD Though I will update this story regardless of how many reviews I get. I want everyone to know that this is not going to be a slash story, nor is it going to be much of a romance story. This is going to be a very canon-esque story. I can already tell you this is going to be different from any other story you will read. I've seen so many stories where Harry decides to go evil one day and goes crazy. I've seen manipulative Dumbledore that drives him to Voldemort. _No, No, No! _This is going to be very different from all of those. I will warn you that this will be an emotional roller coaster- a very dark and angsty story.


	2. Of Traitors and Tea Parties

**Published: **9/01/2010 – 4025 Words

**Gone  
Chapter 2: Of Traitors and Tea Parties**

Ron held Hermione as she cried into his shoulder. Ron stared at Harry, his expression bleak. Mrs. Weasley was cradling Ginny in her arms as they, too, wept. Harry saw Ron nudge Hermione who turned and saw Harry looking at them.

"Harry..." Hermione whispered softly.

Mrs. Weasley looked up from her daughter and at Harry, worry and sadness lining her face. They all looked so bleak, so hopeless.

It made him believe in the choice he made, even with his knees being painfully pressed into the ground and his arms yanked back by the Death Eaters. Voldemort stood a few feet away, his presence known by the consent ache of his scar.

Regardless of what would happen, his friends were safe and he would take the step into the unknown with a brave face.

He would not show his fear or his desire to escape as it would only give Voldemort joy and his friends pain. Pain because it was him instead of them; he would not let them feel guilty of his choice.

He could feel the waves of delight rolling off the Dark Lord as he watched the Weasleys. The happiness, like Voldemort's anger, made his scar converse in pain. In a way Voldemort had won, won so much with so little effort.

How could Dumbledore have been so stupid?

In a way he had been caught up in the 'Great Albus Dumbledore', the vanquisher of The Dark Lord Grindelwald, the one who could do anything.

Now, he was crashing back down to Earth.

Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. He was the Headmaster at Hogwarts and had dozens of titles added to his name: Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump among others. He had always assumed that with Dumbledore alive, Voldemort would never succeed.

His scar gave a painful throb, alerting him that Voldemort had drawn nearer and Harry turned his head from his family and towards his enemy, his parents' murderer and soon to be his _lord. _He turned to face his challenge straight on.

Voldemort was not looking at him but at the two Death Eaters holding him. "Ahh, this won't do at all," he murmured. "Lucius, Evander; release him. He no longer needs to be shown like a captured prisoner in front of his enemy."

Malfoy's grip on his shoulders grew tighter as he showed his dislike for the command.

"But my Lord-" he protested. Voldemort sent a strong glare in his direction.

"Lucius," Voldemort drawled, "we must show a good example now. We would never have gone far if we treated our allies-" Harry visibly flinched and looked at the ground. "-With such disrespect."

Malfoy released him with a shove, his actions showing his disgust of the Boy-Who-Lived. Freed, Harry didn't move. Held or not held, it was still the same, he was still a captive of the dark.

"How is Hogwarts, Harry?" The question was softly-spoken, more like a concerned parent asking about his time at Hogwarts than a Dark Lord. Harry hated it. Hated how Voldemort acted so human, so concerned and _caring. _At first, Harry was going to stay silent and allow himself the punishment that followed. He refused to tarnish the memories of the place he called home.

He did not understand why Voldemort was risking everything for a conversation. Any minute the Order's meeting could end and someone could see. Maybe he wanted the Order - Dumbledore to see. Show him what Harry had become, sworn and held hostage by the Dark Lord.

Harry did not want to see Dumbledore's face– even with all of what had happened that year. But, he would take the pity and grief if it meant his escape. At least he would have a chance for freedom if Dumbledore realized what had happened.

For now, he would play Voldemort's games.

"Fine," Harry replied, his voice stiff, his gaze resting everywhere but Voldemort. He did not want to be here, having a tea party with Voldemort and his followers; talking about everything and nothing.

"Really?" There was amusement in that question. "I heard that the Ministry sent a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to Hogwarts this year. Is this true?"

Not knowing where this was going, Harry simply replied, "Yes."

"Tsk. Tsk. Harry," Voldemort began, his tone condescending. "I believe you forgot something." Harry visibly stiffened as his gaze darted from Death Eater to Death Eater, noticing their smirks before he glanced towards Voldemort, who was tapping his fingers against his side. Waiting. "Your loyalty, Harry. You promised me your loyalty just like my Death Eaters."

Voldemort and his followers began to laugh as comprehension dawned on Harry's face – which had turned a ghostly white. He took a step back and shook his head wildly which caused more laughter from the crowd.

When Harry moved backwards, Voldemort stepped forwards, approaching Harry swiftly. His long fingers grabbed his arm, forcing him to look upwards at Voldemort. "Yes, Harry. When you agreed to join me, you made me your lord."

He felt his stomach plummet as he scrambled away from Voldemort, forcing his arm out of his grasp. When he had accepted the offer, he knew deep in the back of his mind what this would include. He knew he would be held in a prison, forced to serve someone he hated and learn magics he would never have dreamed of, but the feeling was different when it was spoken out loud; in front of the other Death Eaters and in front of his _friends. _

Shame fell upon him like a wall of rushing water. He felt as if he was betraying his parents who had died fighting Voldemort, died because they wanted Harry to live. He knew he was protecting his friends and that it was the right choice but it did not make him feel any better. In his mind he was becoming the next Peter Pettigrew.

Along with shame, pride was revealing its head. Every fibre of his body was daring him to refuse, just as his father did before him. Pride was in his Potter (and Evans) blood, it had made him stronger, refuse to give up and back down and now he had to back down. He had to control his pride, his anger and his contempt of Voldemort and that made his shame increase tenfold.

The Death Eaters chuckled as Harry ripped his arm free from Voldemort. He took slow and wobbly steps backward, just wanting to break free of it all and run.

Voldemort made no move to stop him, just stared at him with those _damned_ amused eyes.

He stopped a few feet away, trying to calm himself down with large breathes and rationalize everything that had happened. He needed to make himself believe that he could do this.

He could, couldn't he? Pride was something he could suppressed but his friends could never be replaced. It would be a game, Harry decided, a large, complex and dangerous game but in the end he would never willingly bow down to Voldemort and truly call him; his Lord.

He would die a thousand deaths and be victim to the harshest of tortures and still he would serve no loyalty to the Dark Lord's cause.

He stood up straighter as his goal became outlined and his breath subsided. The Death Eaters had stopped laughing, though they still had those infuriating smirks on their faces, and his friends just stared bleakly ahead. He could tell in their eyes – they had lost hope.

"I have heard that Dolores Umbridge harbours quite a dislike for you."

Still not trusting his words, he brazenly but sluggishly nodded. Everyone knew that Umbridge disliked him, in fact the whole Ministry of Magic hated him. At least once a week an article came out discrediting the Boy-Who-Lived as a lying, attention-seeking brat.

Voldemort's eyes locked onto his own. Unbidden, the memories of the detentions returned. Writing line after line in special ink – his blood. The feeling of his hand being torn apart as the quill carved through layer after layer on the back of his hand.

He looked downward towards his newly formed fist. The words stood out painstakingly across his skin – scarred.

Voldemort was in front of him before Harry realized it, grasping his wrist with ghastly fingers. His scar exploded with pain, forcing him to bite down on his lip to hide the reaction. Harry watched as Voldemort raised his right hand up to his eyes. There was a pause as Voldemort stared at the words carved into his skin: _I must not tell lies._

Harry's eyes widened. _How did he know that? _Only Ron and Hermione knew about the blood quill and though both of them wanted him to tell someone, he never did. There was no possible way for Voldemort to know about his detentions, and yet he did.

Voldemort ran his thumb across the scars. The touch sent shivers down his spine, Voldemort's skin was like ice.

"This is deep," Voldemort muttered, running his thumb across the scarred flesh again. The pain combined with the disgust made him want to be ill. "This would have taken weeks to form, hours upon hours of detentions. Yet she did not break you." Finally Voldemort dropped his hand and took a few steps away. That distance alone made the pain in his scar dim.

"W-what?" Harry asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"She punished you harshly and yet you still fought. You refused to give in even if it meant hours of agonizing pain as you wrote lines with your blood. The _M__inistry_ made you lose your teachers and friends and then forced you from the Quidditch team - and yet you still fight. You, still, did not _break.__"_

Voldemort sneered when he mentioned the Ministry, as if it was just a pile of trash but seemed almost - Harry did not want to believe it - impressed with Harry's perseverance.

"Because I know, one day, they will find out I did not lie and that you have returned."

The smile on Voldemort's face was barbaric. "Yes, Harry. One day they will realize that I, Lord Voldemort, have returned," Voldemort stated proudly. "You will be, once again, placed on the pedestal as the Boy-Who-Lived. You will be their hero, their hope and, you will also be their greatest curse." Voldemort had glanced at each of his Death Eaters before he turned back to Harry, those red eyes fixing in on him. "When they learn you have joined me, they will crumble in despair."

Harry had been famous because he had protected the Wizarding World by ending the Wizarding War with Voldemort. This betrayal, even if it was for the most noblest of reasons, would crush the public and make the Ministry fully denounce him.

"She may have broken your skin but she was never able to break your spirit - your hope - and so she could never control you," Voldemort said with a growing smile. "Yet I must say _I_ was more effective than the Minister's Undersecretary. We have already twisted your spirit and that is always the hardest part." The wicked serpentine grin reappeared. "For everything else: well, we just have to try harder than Umbridge." The Death Eaters shared knowing looks with each other, grins plastered on their faces.

Harry swallowed, his mouth dry. They did not want him just to accept the mark but to accept the principles, something he would never do. He watched Voldemort closely as he pulled something from his robe.

In Voldemort's hands was his wand, the magical object he was attached to the most. He twirled the wand in his fingertips, eying it carefully.

"I can feel the power of this wand. It is - almost - as if it is my own."

Harry inwardly blanched. They may have had brother cores but that should have been the end of the similarities. He, and his wand, were pure; they had never touched the darker magics compared to Voldemort's who had killed dozens.

"Most wands refuse to work well unless they are in their masters' hands, I wonder if yours is an exception, as our wands are like _brothers._" Voldemort began chuckling.

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath to calm himself, his fists clenched on both sides. He knew that the moment they experienced Priori Incantatem, in the graveyard, Voldemort would, eventually, find out what caused their wands to connect.

His wand always felt like a connection of himself, a piece of himself. He hated Voldemort more than he hated anyone and yet it gave Voldemort the same loyalty as him. Calming his frustrations and terror, Harry glanced upwards. Voldemort was juggling his wand from one hand to another as he faced Harry.

"Our conversation is growing tiresome," said Voldemort. "We do not want to be interrupted before the grand finale."

The Death Eaters must have known what was happening for this 'grand finale' as they circled closer to Voldemort, forcing the Weasleys with them.

Dread was seeping into his bones. _No. _He had a feeling he knew what was coming. _Please, no._ He grabbed his forearm, as if that would stop everything. The small quirk in Voldemort's smile and the glint in those monstrous red eyes, made Harry believe that he saw the small movement and took pleasure in the fear he was bringing.

Voldemort strolled to the middle of the circle, making sure his presence was known, his cloak flowing out behind him. He looked at the Weasleys, who flinched. That mere action caused Harry to tense up, fearing that Voldemort would go back on the deal and hurt them. His smile grew as he proclaimed, "let us start the grand finale!"

It was just him and Voldemort in the centre, the rest of the Death Eaters locking them in. Harry tried to keep an inexpressive face, hiding the fear that was gnarling at his heart, as he stared at Voldemort.

"On your knees, Potter!" one of the Death Eaters yelled.

He refused to be a mindless servant. He stood his ground and ignored the Death Eater's angry cries from the circle. Then, the Death Eater shouted something and he felt weights slam into the back of his knees, sending him tumbling disgracefully onto the snow. He pressed his palms into the snow, pulling himself up for Voldemort's approach.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Voldemort taunted.

Voldemort stepped forward and cupped Harry's face with his hands. Harry's scar pulsed. He hated the feel of Voldemort on his skin. It made him want to bathe himself in burning water and scrub every inch of his skin.

"You have caused me and my cause so much trouble," Voldemort said, his voice calm but cold. "You are defiant and stubborn. You will fight until you cannot fight anymore. I may admire some of these abilities, but you need to learn that _traitors_ will be punished." His nails dug into Harry's cheeks. "If you betray me, each one of your friends and their families will suffer and you will be nothing more than a useless play toy." He stroked his finger down his face, enjoying how a simple touch could bring him so much pain.

Voldemort released Harry with such force that Harry had to steady himself with a hand on the ground. Harry understood since the moment he accepted. If he stepped out of line, one-by-one his friends would suffer gruelling fates.

Harry flinched at the thought of his friends in pain and cast Voldemort a hateful glare — hate because of how easily Voldemort spoke of hurting him and his friends, hate because Voldemort handled him like property. But already the Dark Lord's words were weighing heavily in his mind; Harry couldn't quite bring himself to meet the villain's eyes as he knew what was about to happen.

"He is the one who ended our glorious revolution!" Voldemort exclaimed to his Death Eaters. "But now he is ours and we must show him how we treat betrayers."

"NO!" Hermione and Ron shouted. They were ignored.

The Death Eater named Ignaas was the first to step out. He pointed his wand at Harry and chanted, "_Vegrandis Incidere!_" An purplish-blue bolt came from his wand.

Harry wanted to scream as he clenched his mouth closed. He could hear the sounds of Mrs. Weasley begging for them to stop and Hermione sobbing.

"Stop it you bloody-"

The pain started on his right hand feeling as if a small knife was cutting through his skin every few centimetres. It slowly worked its way up his arm and across his body. Each open surface of his body was shredded by non-existent shards of glass.

"_Abluo!_"

His wounds were on fire, stinging like crazy. He had heard of this spell, Abluo was a small time healing spell to disinfect wounds similar to the Muggle hydrogen peroxide. It was just like a Death Eater to turn the most innocent of spells into something painful and dark. Harry moaned, a sound of pain escaping him.

Slowly his wounds stopped stinging as the Death Eaters changed spots. The next Death Eater used a curse similar to the Bludgeoning Curse, a spell that made him feel as if he was getting punched and kicked.

One-by-one the Death Eaters took a turn, sending out various curses that made him gasp in pain but never cry out. He lost sense of time as they played with him like a puppet.

Finally there was a moment of silence, a moment when a spell was not making him want to cry out in pain.

"Lucius. I know that the Golden Boy has ruined many of your plans. Go ahead and show him what you wanted to do to him for so long." Lucius sauntered forward, the arrogant mask plastered on his face as he raised his wand.

"_Ignisumo!__"_

An orange bolt erupted from Lucius' wand, slamming into Harry's stomach before he could move. He was expecting pain but felt nothing but a small tingle and warmth. He quickly glanced downwards.

Flames were curling on his shirt, with wide eyes he reached to smother the flames before they spread. The moment his hand came in contact with the small fire, it erupted across his palms. He screamed as the fire burned his hands and began travelling upward.

The flames began to spread everywhere, tearing through his skin and scalding his flesh. He could feel the pain as it melted the skin and could smell the smoke choking his lungs. He had fallen to the ground, rolling across the grass as he was instructed in primary school. Nothing put out the flames, just spread them.

He screamed until the smoke choked his lungs so badly he could not breathe. Everything he tried was unless. Merlin, they were burning him alive.

"NO!" He heard the voice rise over the crackling of the flames.

He was burning, his skin was flaking and they were _laughing_. All he could see, smell and feel was the fire; it surrounded him, made him unable to escape. _Mum, _he whispered in his mind. _Save me._

"Harry! HARRY! It's an illusion!" But the flames, it _hurt_ so badly! The world went black as the flames ate his eyes.

Then, it was over as his vision returned and the flames vanished.

He took giant breaths of the clean air as he lay on the grass, taking a look at his arm and expecting blackened flesh. The skin was untouched, as if the fire never touched him yet underneath his skin was a burning ache.

He slowly forced himself up, glancing around at the laughing Death Eaters and the crying Weasleys.

Lucius had stepped back into the circle, a pleased smile on his face. When he noticed Harry staring at him, he did a mocking bow. Voldemort finally stepped forward, reclaiming his time in the spotlight.

"You have been a thorn in my side too many times in these past thirteen years. I was left without a body for thirteen years because of you and your _mudblood_ mother-" Harry flinched, wanting to defend her honour. "-But I am a merciful lord, I can forgive and even accept you into my circle."

Harry said nothing, this was not forgiveness, this was torture. Voldemort retook that crazed smirk as he raised his wand - _NO! _It was _Harry's_ wand.

"Let us see how well your wand handles the darker magics," Voldemort gleefully said. "I believe you are familiar with this spell." The pain of seeing his wand used for such destruction was equal to the pain the Cruciatus Curse that followed seconds later.

This time he screamed.

A little over six months ago he was in the same position screaming as the Cruciatus Curse stimulated every nerve. He was still haunted by those memories in his dreams, remembering the pain of the Cruciatus Curse over and over again.

This was worse as it was his own wand performing the damage, performing the curse he would never utter in his life. This was the curse that brought Neville's parents to insanity.

His whole body was shredded, ripped and thorned from the inside out. Needles were poked through his skin and fire raced across, scalding it. The Cruciatus Curse was all this and more. He felt like dying - no, he wanted to die. He knew he was screaming and in the background the Weasleys and Hermione begged the Dark Lord to stop. He wanted to beg for mercy, to tell him to end it but the words would not escape his lips.

The curse went on and on, the edges of his vision blurred and slowly became black.

_Let me die!_ His mind screamed. _Nothing_ could be worse than this.

It felt like hours until the pain ended.

He lay panting on the ground, hardly even realizing where he was. His nerves felt shot and sluggish, his mind barely noticing the surroundings. Every bone in his body ached and craved sleep. If he could care, he would notice he was slightly shaking, the aftermath of the curse affecting him already.

He did not feel the Death Eaters pull him upright, back on his knees in front of Voldemort. His head was hung uselessly downward, his hair covering his eyes.

"Harry Potter. You are mine," Voldemort said; grabbing his left arm with his skeleton-like fingers.

His pain in his scar was a dim pulse compared to the aftershocks ripping through his body. He could not even try to escape Voldemort's grip. Weakly, he gazed into Voldemort's eyes and flinched away from the intensity and sick pleasure resting in them.

The grip around his arm tightened.

"Harry James Potter, do you accept my mark?"

The two Voldemorts- connected at the seams- blurred apart and back again. Pressed to his skin was a wand; his wand or was it Voldemort's? He couldn't tell anymore.

He stayed silent, hoping he would never have to answer.

"Harry James Potter," Voldemort repeated, digging his wand further into his arm. "Do you accept my mark?"

The world spun and the winter sun darkened, but he refused to answer. _This was not happening. _

"_Crucio!__"_

The pain returned and he screamed. He _couldn't _take it anymore, he wanted to die, he wanted to surrender. The pain vanished abruptly and he was pulled back upright.

He felt himself swaying and could see the darkness hovering at the edge of his vision. He felt a breath of air slide across his cheek.

"You do not accept, and I will kill them," Voldemort whispered. His voice was so cruel and vicious. "Harry James Potter, do you accept my mark?" He asked once again. Time was up, Dumbledore had lost and Harry was broken.

"Yes," he croaked out, his voice broken from the screams. His spirit was broken, his body hurt and his mind was teetering on the edge of a cliff; he accepted the inevitable.

"Harry Potter, you are mine now. You had only a taste of what would happen if you betrayed me. Remember that."

The incantation was lost in the swirling world and the pain that followed was like the waves, rising and falling as the small blackened mass expanded. It was so cold, so cold that it _burned _into his skin. The icy black mark twisted, turned and then formed, into the infamous mark the people feared and the mark that his parents defied.

He felt the freedom of the abyss before he saw the dark taint fill his vision. The world spun and the Dark Lord rose.

"May I be the first to welcome Harry Potter into our ranks."

The cliff he stood on crumbled, piece by piece falling into the abyss. He fell - and welcomed it.

**A/N - ** Well, here is chapter two. I hope you guys like. I had this chapter finished almost two weeks ago but I had problems with Beta-Readers. I like to welcome my awesome new beta-reader: Zoe. This chapter was extremely hard to write as most of this chapter was suppose to be in chapter one (but that chapter got too long), so I had to create this chapter without any planning. I really wanted to write a different scene in here, but it got too long... -_- so that shall be in the next chapter. I hope I can publish chapter three soon :D Thank you guys for all the reviews.


	3. Breaking Down

**Published: **10/15/2010 **— **7414 Words

**Gone**

**Chapter 3: Breaking Down**

They stood in shock, in horror, and in pure unadulterated fear. They stood because it was required of them, they stood because there was _nothing else_ they could do. All of them had pushed bravely forward, acted defiantly to try to force attention away from Harry. They had pleaded with the Dark Lord to stop even though it terrified them right to their magical cores. They did this because _Harry_ was worth so much more than their pride or fear.

All around him he could see the ones he cared about break.

His mum and sister were clinging to each other like a Seeker and his snitch or-

The screaming had stopped.

_Harry. _

Ron could not believe his eyes, Harry was dragging himself off the ground and forcing himself to stand. Harry had always been brave and relentless. Ron knew that if it was him lying on that ground, he would not be able to rise again.

Ron sneered when Malfoy gave his bow and gathered back into the circle. Once again Malfoy had hurt the ones he cared about, he wanted that man to die.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named began pacing. "You have been a thorn in my side too many times in these past thirteen years. I was left without a body for _thirteen years_ because of you and your _M__udblood_ mother but I am a merciful lord, I can forgive and even accept you into my circle."

He wasn't merciful, he was a monster.

Hermione grasped his hand and they exchanged a look. The Order needed to arrive now. They had to.

Ron saw the smirk on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's face before pulling out a wand he was all too familiar with. It was Ron who gasped in horror as Harry's wand was presented.

"Let us see how well your wand handles the darker magics." He looked so _gleeful_. "I believe you are familiar with this spell."

He felt Hermione turn and cling to him. He wrapped his arms around her.

"_CRUCIO!__"_

In Merlin's name— Harry screamed.

He painfully shut his eyes, wanting to block out the sounds of his best mate screaming. They grew more frantic, more uncontrolled. He had never heard anything like this. The screams were terrible, full of raw horror.

He felt Hermione's fingers tighten around his waist. "Harry," she whispered, her voice almost lost in the screams.

He forced his eyes open. He could not try to hide as if this was not happening. This was his friend, his best mate, being tortured by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers because Harry wanted to protect him and his family.

He felt his nails dig into his skin as he watched Harry twitch on the grass, desperately trying to get away from _his own wand. _

He _knew _Harry. He would never be able to forgive himself because his wand had cast Dark Magic, even if he was the victim and had no control of the curses. Harry was so noble, so kind, that he would believe that his wand worked for Vol - he cringed - He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named because something inside of him was dark.

He heard Harry's cries, the Death Eaters' laughter. "No," he whispered, and it was shadowed by the screams.

"NO!" Ron screamed, trying to break forward from Hermione to save his friend. He wanted his wand, he wanted to fight and win and-

It was hopeless. Without their wands they were nothing but hovering, paralysed pixies.

His family grew restless, calling out to the Death Eaters, screaming at them to stop. For once his mum ignored the language he and his brothers used.

Hermione had tightened her arms around him. He could feel her body shaking and knew she had to be crying. For once, Ron only had eyes for Harry.

The curse went on.

Ron began to fear that they were going to make him insane, like with Neville's parents as they had learned the day before. It seemed like so long ago.

Finally, the Dark Lord lowered Harry's wand.

The moment the curse ended, Ron knew that Harry would not be getting up on his own. He was barely conscious. It was the Death Eaters that picked him upright again.

"Harry Potter. You are mine," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named said, grabbing Harry's forearm with his bone-like fingers before placing his wand on it. "Harry James Potter, do you accept my mark?"

He wanted Harry to say no. _Please, don't do this for us. _

Harry was silent as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named repeated his request. Even now, hovering on the brink of consciousness, Harry refused to accept.

"_Crucio!__"_

Once again the world was filled with screams.

It lasted only a moment, but those moments took a toll on Harry's body as he swayed.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had leaned forward, whispered something in his ear before pulling away and asking the question again: "Harry James Potter, do you accept my mark?"

His felt something get caught in his throat as his best mate answered, "Yes."

"No! NO, NO, NO!" he heard Hermione whisper, her voice frantic and raising in volume, "No! Harry!"

"Harry Potter, now, you are mine. You had only a taste of what would happen if you betrayed me. Remember that."

Before their very eyes, they had to watch their saviour— The-Boy-Who-Lived— as well as a great friend fall before his greatest enemy and be forced to take his mark.

Even from that distance, he could see the horror in his friend's eyes, before he fell.

There was nothing but silence as the Dark Lord personally picked up Harry in his arms and with a serpentine grin said, "Thank you for your hospitality."

Then they vanished, leaving his family and their wands behind. The Burrow looked untouched as if a horrifying crime had not just happened before their eyes. The Order had not arrived, had not saved them, had not saved Harry.

Ron instinctively wrapped his arms around Hermione as she sobbed into his chest and stared at the space where Harry last was.

The Burrow had wards and yet He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named broke through them as if they were just a toy. These were wards designed by Bill and yet Bill and Dumbledore _never even knew_.

They had not been in The Burrow since the beginning of summer. Someone had to have told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that they would be at The Burrow. A spy. Snape.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. Snape had betrayed them. He had kept them locked in Grimmauld Place while he told his _master_ all about Harry.

He was going to kill him!

He wrenched away from Hermione, grabbing his and Hermione's wands from the pile, grabbing her hand and almost dragging her along. How dare he? He always was a greasy haired git who had it in for Harry. "Ron—" They had trusted him with their secrets, let him into the Order. "—on!"

He flung open the door to his house. "Ron!" Hermione shouted and he froze and turned back to her.

"Snape!" he said and her eyes widened. "He betrayed us! No one should of known we were here. V-Vol- He should of not known. Someone had to have told him!"

"N-no. He couldn't have," she sounded unconvincing.

"Who else could it be?" He became aware he was shaking her by the shoulders and abruptly let go. He did not hear whatever she responded with because he was swept away by the flames as he called out his destination.

He leapt out of the fireplace just as Snape had entered the room. "Mr. Weasley, I know you and Potter want to be arrogant fools but you can tell Potter that neither he nor you shall be granted entrance to this meeting! Now, GET OUT!"

Ron took a few steps forward, fire roaring in his ears. Harry had suffered so much because of him, was tortured because of him!

Ron raised his wand towards the Death Eater and had a small dose of pleasure flood him as Snape's eyes widened. He faintly heard the Floo activate behind him.

"YOU BLOODY DEATH EATER!" screamed Ron.

"NO!" cried Hermione.

"Listen to Granger, Weasley. I do have warrant to expel you just for pointing a wand at a Professor."

"Expel?" Ron shouted. "Expel? I don't give a bloody damn about expulsion you greasy git! Not when Harry—" his explosive tone cracked at his best friends name, "—not when you betrayed him!"

His tone must have been heard throughout the house as the door burst open revealing Dumbledore and Sirius. His mask of rage cracked as he saw Sirius. Sirius was going to be devastated.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore's voice was strict and disapproving. "Please lower your wand and tell me what is wrong?"

Snape would try to escape the moment he put the wand down, he knew it.

"No," he said harshly. "He betrayed us all! I bet it was his idea for the Order meeting today and sending us off to The Burrow! He betrayed Harry to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Ron noticed Sirius stiffen and look around, realizing that Harry was not in the room. "What happened?" he questioned. "Where's Harry?"

At that moment the Floo activated again as someone stepped out.

"Albus! Harry's—" It was his mother's voice.

"—Snape gave Harry to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Ron interrupted, repeating himself again.

This time, it seemed, they got his message as Sirius', Dumbledore's and even Snape's faces whitened.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked gravely.

"Ask the filthy Death Eater!" Ron yelled pressing his wand closer to Snape.

Hermione stepped forward. "Voldemort broke into The Burrow and—"

"—He held Hermione and I hostage," Ginny finished, having arrived at some time during the argument.

There was complete silence for a moment before the yelling started.

"What did you do to Harry, Snivellus!" roared Sirius. "I knew you never stopped being a Death Eater!"

"I had nothing to do with this! Perhaps you should take a closer look at your own friends, such as Lupin, before accusing others!"

"You—!"

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore bellowed. "Sirius, Ronald, Severus, lower your wands at once!"

He wanted to blast Snape apart into potion ingredients but he did what he was told. Reluctantly, he lowered his arm knowing that fighting each other would not save his friend.

The look upon Sirius' face was chilling. He stared at Snape with such animosity that it seemed unlikely he would heed Dumbledore's commands but instead perform something unforgivable.

Ron had disliked Snape because of his cruelty, his affiliations with the Death Eaters— something Ron now knew for certain he was a part of— and on how he picked on the Gryffindors, taking away as many points as he could. As much as Ron disliked Snape, Sirius' hatred of him was overwhelming.

"We need to save my Godson. He can't die! I won't let Voldemort kill him!" Sirius said, his hatred turning into frantic worry. "The Order is all here, we can inform them now and get him back." Sirius had already turned to do exactly that.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would not kill Harry and that was what made it so horrible. Harry would have chosen death over dishonour— and in Harry's eyes, accepting the Mark was betrayal even if it was for the most noble of causes.

Dumbledore must have noticed something in their faces— an aura of melancholy perhaps— as he gazed at each of them. "There is more. Am I correct?"

Sirius withdrew his arm from the door, spinning around. "Please do not tell me Harry is dead!" He looked wild. Ron could only shake his head, unable to form the words that would break Sirius' heart.

"He told us that he would kill us all." Hermione began faintly. "It was just Ginny and I talking when they appeared. We had no chance! They took our wands and grabbed us."

The Death Eaters had watched them and had found the perfect moment.

"V-Voldemort personally targeted Ginny." Ginny shut her eyes and nodded.

"He knew who I was—" His sister's voice broke, "—he knew I was the one who opened his diary." She began to shake softly. "They tried to help," Ginny continued softly. "He— He laughed. The boys tried so hard and all he did was _laugh._"

Ron noticed Fred— or George— gazing at Ginny as she stiffened, her shoulders hunched over and her fists clenched, and went on, "They took our wands." The twins exchanged a glance.

"All but Harry's," The second twin added on. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wanted that personally."

"I didn't even know!" his mum blurted out. "I was just cleaning around the house unaware of everything that was happening just a few feet away. I didn't even bother checking the clock as I assumed they were safe. I could have saved them, alerted the Order but I did not even bother to check!"

"It's not your fault, Mum," Ron found himself replying.

His mum gave him a weak, but obviously fake, smile. "Next thing I knew I was stunned, and I woke up seeing my children… captured. My wand was gone. I couldn't save them. I couldn't save Harry."

By now Sirius was trembling and Dumbledore was growing older and older by the minute. Even Snape appeared to be alarmed at the events.

_Bloody bastard probably already knew exactly what was taking place. _

"I thought we were going to die," Hermione said and Ron agreed. The moment the Death Eaters had taken his wand, he felt that they were all going to die. "He stood there and told us what the Daily Prophet would report on our deaths. Harry was frantic, willing to do anything to save us."

Dumbledore's whole body had tensed up and an unknown emotion flickered across his face— anger, sadness, panic? Ron couldn't tell before it had vanished as Dumbledore closed his eyes and placed his hands over his face. It was then that Ron knew Dumbledore realised how the night had ended.

He waited for Hermione to finish, anyone to finish, but they were all silent. None of them wanted to explain the events that followed. Hermione watched Dumbledore before glancing back at him. The look in her face showed him that she couldn't continue.

Damn it. He didn't want to be the one who had to break the news. He was a bloody Gryffindor for Merlin's sake, why did he feel more like running than speaking?

"Harry demanded He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to stop… and he offered his life in exchange for ours." He ignored the intake of air from Sirius. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named refused," Ron weakly finished.

Snape's head shot up, his normally dead eyes were wild with despair. His gaze darted over to Dumbledore's solemn expression and he brokenly exclaimed, "No!"

Ron narrowed his eyes, not believing the emotional scene. He had never seen terror or shock on Snape's face.

"What happened?" shouted Sirius.

No one wanted to utter the words out loud, as if not saying it wouldn't make it true.

"He decided that Harry was worth more alive and loyal. He wanted him as a follower," Ron's voice was soft, steady and filled with so much pain.

"NO!" cried Sirius so loudly that Ron wondered why the members of the Order had not came running out. "Harry would never accept! That's what happened! He refused so they kidnapped him."

"Sirius," Dumbledore said gently.

"He refused." Sirius perked up. "But—" Ron trailed off.

"He tortured me," Ginny said, her arms over her stomach. She looked so young, Ron noticed; her body still shaking from the curse.

"He tried to stall," Ginny cried out. "He hoped that someone, anyone, would come." Dumbledore who was staring so intensely at Ginny, looked away, defeated.

"Then he said something to Harry, something we couldn't hear," Hermione went on.

Ginny looked up. "I know what he said."

She went on to explain what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named said; how Harry and him were so similar, how Voldemort knew about Harry seeing into his snake's mind (Ron noticed Professor Dumbledore and Snape share a look when that came up) and ending with Harry refusing to believe it.

"Harry was so strong, so defiant but I know him - I know Tom. Everything he says lasts forever. He places the seeds in your mind so you begin to think what he wants you to think." Ron closed his eyes. Ginny never talked much about her conversations with the Dark Lord.

Ginny was right. Harry was already worried about the connection and those words would hurt him. There were places in him that were so fragile.

One by one, they explained vaguely what had happened next. No one wanted to speak about what had happened in the torture as the screams would echo in their minds. Dumbledore looked as if he was about to collapse and Sirius looked torn between rage or a sadness that would shatter him. Snape was once again closed off, more than likely already knowing the torture Harry had experienced.

"He fought right to the last moment," Ron explained. "But by the end he…he couldn't even stand and that's when he marked him." There was silence by the end of the tale. Everyone was just trying to wrap their minds around what had happened.

"I've failed him," Dumbledore whispered. Those blue eyes that were always filled with kindness and laughter were brimming with tears.

Dumbledore was not supposed to cry. He was not supposed to admit his failures. He was supposed to have a plan, a plan that always worked and would save Harry.

Harry _could not _be left there. There had to be a rescue plan, a way to save him. This was Dumbledore— the one that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named feared, the smartest wizard alive. He had to have a plan. _He had to!_

Sirius must have had the same thoughts. "We will get him back. We will make a rescue plan, we will save him!"

"And just how will you enter the Dark Lord's manor?" Snape replied scathingly. "You can only enter if you have the Mark."

Sirius glared at him. "You will bring us, unless you are the traitor."

"I am _not_ the traitor," Snape's hand gripped his wand tighter. "But I cannot singularly bring the required people into the manor alone. It would also give me up as a spy, which we need even more now."

Sirius was ready to respond, or maybe even explode, when the door opened.

"Snape, Albus, Sirius, has something happened? You've been gone for—" Kingsley strolled in and froze as he witnessed the scene.

Dumbledore stood up straight and turned to Kingsley as he wiped away the tears. Ron watched as Dumbledore turned into a commander, his pain removed from his face.

"Has anyone left the Order meeting?"

Kingsley looked flabbergasted at the question. "No, everyone is still there. What has—"

"Do not let anyone leave." The harshness of the command made the hairs on his arm raise. This was the man that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named feared.

Kingsley, though alarmed and confused, nodded his head and exited the room.

"We need to tell the Order what had happened to Harry. All of you will join us this time." It was ironic that just this morning, the thing they desired most was entering the meeting. Now they were the main attraction.

"Also, Professor Snape is not the traitor. He _did not do this._"

"You got to be kidding me," Ron said at the same time as Sirius said, "How can we trust him?"

Dumbledore swiftly glanced at both of them and the look he gave made Ron's mouth go dry. "I trust him with my life. He did not do this."

Ron stiffly nodded his head, not believing it for a moment. He would watch Snape, wait for any little screw up. He would prove that Snape was the traitor.

Dumbledore exited the room, followed by Snape and Sirius. One by one his family left, meaning that he and Hermione the last ones to leave.

He took a step forward when Hermione grasped his hand, intertwining their fingers. He felt a small blush creep onto his face.

Slowly they entered the meeting room together.

It was a full Order meeting, everyone was there: Kingsley, Professor Moody, Emmeline Vance, Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, Mundungus Fletcher, Tonks, Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge and his brother Bill.

The moment they walked though the threshold, sound erupted around him. He could hear the curious mutterings of the Order members and Professor Lupin ask what had happened. There had been silencing wards on the room to stop sounds from entering or exiting the room. This had been the reason why the Order members did not hear the fighting.

Sirius must of known someone had entered the Floo for being the owner of the house. Ancient and powerful pureblooded houses were protected. He had heard that the head of the family always knew when someone entered or exited the premise.

Ron watched as Dumbledore made an arch with his wand and the table expanded on one side and chairs appeared. Dumbledore was powerful, he probably could feel the magic that the Floos gave off.

Hermione was staring transfixed at the magic Dumbledore had produced and Ron could bet that she was trying to figure out what spell he had used to expand the table as well as summon the chairs. Even in this dark time, Ron couldn't help but give a small smile as he watched her snitches fly.

As the rest of his family sat down, he brought Hermione to their seats.

"Why are the children here?" Elphias Doge said. _Children, _Ron snorted. They had not been children for a very long time.

"What happened? Where is Harry?" Professor Lupin said urgently. "Did he have another vision?"

The rest of the members began to shoot curious looks around the room, realizing that the Boy-Who-Lived was not with them.

Dumbledore placed his palms on the table and rose from his seat. "It appears what I feared the most has happened, Voldemort—" Ron watched as the Order collectively flinched. "—has Harry."

"What?" both Professor McGonagall and Lupin shouted as they jumped up, their voices rising over the shocked exclamations from the other Order members.

Professor Lupin slammed his hands upon the desk. "How?" he questioned. "Bill and I built the wards over The Burrow. They were supposed to be safe!"

"Yes, by Death Eaters." Dumbledore sighed. "Lord Voldemort personally made an appearance."

The Order members began trading looks with each other; fearful and worried looks.

"This was not just a random attack to destroy The Burrow," Dumbledore said gravely. "This attack was thought out and planned. They knew Harry would be there."

Moody angrily stood up. "Which one of you could not keep their damn mouths shut?"

"Alastor," Dumbledore said wearily. "Only Sirius, the Weasleys, Severus, Remus and I knew that the children would be going to The Burrow beforehand."

Moody glared at Snape. "Are you sure your pet Death Eater is as loyal as you think?"

Snape's reaction was instantaneous; he bolted out of his chair, his face in a snarl. "I am not a t—" Snape trailed off as Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder, though his face still looked murderous.

"Severus did not betray the Order. I trust him with my life," Dumbledore calmly responded.

Moody slowly sat down, still shooting looks at Snape. Ron knew that Moody hated any Death Eater who walked free.

"Is it possible," Professor Lupin began. "That Voldemort found out through Harry?"

Ron froze. He slowly turned his head and met Hermione's gaze. _No. _He couldn't believe it.

"It is a possibility," Dumbledore responded and Ron flinched. "But it is unlikely. Harry himself only knew about going to the Burrow a few minutes before they left. This attack could not have been designed in a few minutes."

Ron let out a breath he did not realise he was holding. Hermione squeezed his hand; she, too, was relieved.

"Ms. Weasley told me that Voldemort knew that Harry saved Arthur." Remus paled dramatically. "This leads me to believe that Voldemort planned out the attack after receiving the information and waited for the perfect moment to act upon it."

"Why?" Professor Lupin spoke up. "Voldemort has wanted to kill Harry all his life. Why would he plan this attack because of what happened to Arthur?"

Everyone who had heard the original version froze and looked anywhere but at Professor Lupin or the members who knew nothing. Professor Lupin's eyes narrowed as he realised this. "What are you not telling us?"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore began softly, "decided that Harry was worth more alive than dead."

It was a cryptic statement that revealed nothing. Ron had noticed Dumbledore's hand gripping the table. Even he did not wish to explain what happened.

Dumbledore responded to the questions in the Order's eyes and expressions. "He played on Harry's weakness, his love for his friends and family. Voldemort knew that Harry would do anything to save his friends' lives."

Professor Lupin was shaking now. "What does that mean?" he questioned. "What did Voldemort make Harry do?"

"It means," Snape sneered. "That the Dark Lord decided Potter will join him and become a Death Eater or he would watch his friends be tortured and killed."

Professor Lupin fell backwards into his chair, shocked. Tonks dropped her glass, shattering it on the floor. Each of the Order members had a look of shock and horror upon their faces.

"No," whispered Professor McGonagall, "Harry would never accept."

Ron couldn't take it any more. He shot out of his chair and banged his fist on the table. "He did! He accepted it because he wanted to protect us," he shouted. "We couldn't escape. We tried! Then Voldemort began telling us how we all were going to die." He was speaking quickly now. "Harry couldn't take it, we all couldn't. They broke down his spirit and then they tortured him until he could not stand."

He began rapidly shaking his head back and forth.

"He tried not to scream for so long, acted as if it did not hurt him and after it all he still defied him. I could not have done what he did." The room became blurry and he vaguely realised he had started to cry. It was all too much.

"He tried everything. EVERYTHING to stall, to escape but there were _no options left.__"_Hermione was clinging to him now, holding him and the rest of the Order were staring, some in shock, some in tears.

"This meeting was about him and yet you forbade him to join in!" Hermione was tugging him back and he tore from her grasp. "Once again you kept the information to yourself and Harry was left to suffer the consequences!"

"He is not a child! He has not been a child for so many years. Why—" He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. "—Why do you all keep destroying the little trust he has for adults and segregate him some more."

"How could you?" he screamed, looking each and every one of them in the eyes.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said softly.

"Ron." His mum was there— something Harry never had— clinging to him and crying. "You know we never meant for this to happen."

He knew. Even in their wildest dreams they never suspected this would happen, even Dumbledore who looked so ancient and indescribably sad.

Ron clung to his mum as the Order meeting picked up again. They wanted to know what was going to happen now, who had betrayed them and how were they going to save Harry.

They began debating with each other, demanding to know how the information had been released.

His mum pulled away. "None of this is your fault," she whispered. "Do not ever think it was."

If Ron could have been braver, smarter, faster- maybe he would have been able to save Harry. He looked away from his mum's seeking eyes and turned back towards the meeting, grasping Hermione's hand when he sat down. He felt his mother's hand rest on his shoulder.

"This makes no sense!" Professor Lupin cried out. "It is almost as if the house told Voldemort what was happening—" Sirius abruptly stood up and cut Professor Lupin off. "Kreacher," Sirius whispered.

"Harry was telling me a few days ago how Dobby hated the Malfoys and ended up disobeying them to protect Harry. Is it possible that Kreacher could have betrayed us?"

Dumbledore's eyes lit up. Kreacher hated Muggle-borns and blood traitors, if he could have spilled the secrets, he would have.

"Yes. It is possible."

"KREACHER!"

There was a loud pop as Kreacher appeared in front of Sirius. "What would my master, the blood traitor, like?"

Sirius scooped down and grabbed him by his ragged shirt. Ron heard a squeak from Hermione but ignored it, not understanding why Hermione still felt sorry for this thing.

"You will tell your master the truth. Did you betray us and tell Voldemort about Harry?" Kreacher's sneer dissipated and he began to choke. "Tell me!" Sirius shouted, shaking him.

Kreacher began laughing. "I told the great Mistress Malfoy."

Ron was furious. "HOW COULD YOU?" Sirius shouted before Ron had a chance to do anything.

"Sirius, let him go," Dumbledore commanded. "How were you able to leave the house?"

"Master told me to 'get out.'" Kreacher responded. "No filthy Mudbloods with Mistress Malfoy."

Ron sat up straighter. "Sirius told Kreacher to get out today at breakfast. Right after we were told we were going to The Burrow."

"How dare you," hissed Sirius. "You hurt my godson."

"I WILL KILL YOU!"

In a blink of an eye, Sirius shot forward and slammed Kreacher against the wall. For a brief moment, Kreacher's eyes widened before a sneer formed on his face.

"Mistress Malfoy cares about the Blacks and Mistress herself. No blood traitors, no Mudbloods. The late Mistress would be proud of Kreacher."

Sirius' wand was at Kreacher's throat and there was a fire burning in his eyes. Ron could feel the dark magic swirling from the fight. This was Sirius Black, cousin of Bellatrix Lestrange, son and heir of one of the darkest wizarding families, and more than likely raised within the Dark Arts. This was a man who had lived in Azkaban and escaped and a man that could easily wield Unforgiveables if he wanted to.

That immature, funny and warm adult had transformed into a terrifying Dark Wizard. Ron couldn't help but shiver.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder; Sirius flinched away. "Harry would not want you killing."

Sirius tore his gaze away from Kreacher, narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore. "Harry isn't here! He isn't here because of HIM!" He jammed his wand deeper into Kreacher's throat. "I can't— won't— let another traitor free."

"There are things worse than death, Sirius," Dumbledore said gently. "Send him to Hogwarts, command him to act as the others; clean up after Muggleborns and Light Wizards." Kreacher began shaking his head and muttering to himself. "Kreacher believes in the Pureblood ways. He will take pride in dying for what he believes in," Dumbledore finished.

Ron looked at Kreacher who's eyes were wide and he was shaking his head rapidly. Ron could not exactly hear what he was saying, but it sounded similar to: "No, no! Hogwarts has Mudbloods, Kreacher will die."

Kreacher was released from Sirius's grasp and fell to the ground, scrabbling to get away. Dumbledore stepped in front of the crawling House Elf.

"Kreacher," Sirius began, "I command you to go to Hogwarts and act like the other Elves. You will not speak of this to anyone, nor will you leave Hogwarts unless I or Dumbledore tell you to."

Kreacher's eyes narrowed. "Yes, Master," he forced out and with a glare and a _pop_, he vanished.

Ron watched the members of the Order stare at each other, shocked at what they had witnessed, even Ron was feeling overwhelmed at the identity of the betrayer. He would have never guessed that Kreacher believed in the Pureblood mania enough to betray them all.

Ron grimaced, Snape had been innocent. He may have been a Death Eater, but he had not given Harry to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The meeting carried on but Ron was hardly aware of it all. His thoughts were in a whirlwind. Snape was a Death Eater, but a spy for them, a simple House-elf was their enemy, Harry was taken; it was all so complicated. Who could be trusted?

He had closed his eyes when Dumbledore announced that they could not save Harry at this point in time as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be suspecting an attack and it would be too risky.

Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the meeting ended.

Dinner was a solemn affair, his mum buried herself into her cooking as the rest of them sat in silence.

That night he sat alone in his and Harry's room. He felt as if the room had expanded by a hundred feet, he felt so alone. He sat on the edge of his bed, glancing at Harry's belongings.

He could not stay here alone. He arose from his bed to hear a knock on the door. Quietly the door opened, revealing his sister and Hermione.

"We can't sleep," his sister murmured.

"We figured that you could not either," Hermione added on. "We came hoping to join you." Her eyes paused on a pile of Harry's clothes before glancing away.

Ron nodded, unable to speak as they entered the room and laid out sleeping bags.

They spent hours whispering their fears, worries and hopes.

He awoke the next morning to the twins peeking their heads in the door and solemnly nodding at the gathering. When they clamoured downstairs, they realised that their mum had gone to visit Dad.

The next few days were awful. People came and went but the atmosphere of the house was dark, depressing and filled with tension. For the first time he could not wait to go back to Hogwarts and start classes.

He felt useless and weak as he sat around day after day unable to do anything. He had always wanted an easy life, having fun, laughing and playing Quidditch; homework was never important to him. Now he felt as if he needed to study, to train and to save his best friend.

He refused to sit around being weak any more, he would learn and become powerful.

Even the return of his father did not make Ron feel much better. His father was sullen as he believed that he was the reason for the attack. They all had assured him that he was not at fault; but everyone in the house believed it was their own fault that this had happened.

Ron wanted to scream and escape, he almost laughed when it was announced that they were returning to Hogwarts the next day.

They took the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade and walked to Hogwarts. Ron let out a sigh of relief as the magnificent castle came into view.

The other students had began to arrive as they entered, no one noticing that Harry was not with them. In fact, no one noticed Harry had not arrived until Ron entered his dormitory alone.

"Hey, where is Harry?" Dean asked.

Ron did not reply as he felt his throat close up. His mate's bed was still there but his trunk and belongings were missing.

"Ron?" Neville questioned and Ron glanced up at his room mates.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, I'm too tired now," he lied, escaping as he closed his curtains and collapsed on the bed. He knew Dumbledore had a plan to deal with the media and school. Harry was too well known to disappear without notice.

Ron knew that Seamus, and others, did not believe what Harry had gone through and knew the truth (or even a partial truth) would be looked down upon, feared or not believed. They could not know what happened the day after Christmas.

He turned to face the wall, noticing the sounds had stopped and the room was black. The others had gone to bed as well. He sighed and closed his eyes.

It felt like nothing had changed; the students were laughing and talking as Ron walked into the Great Hall, Hermione and Ginny by his sides. For the first time in his life, Ron was glad that school was starting. The Gryffindor tower seemed lonely without Harry, he never realised how much he would miss his best mate until he was gone.

He watched as the owls swept in, dropping the mail for the students and wishing that one would be from him - from Harry.

As he took a bite from his meal, Hermione grabbed his arm. "Ron, Look."

She had spread the Daily Prophet on the table in front of him and his eyes located an old photograph of Harry - waving and happy as the Quidditch team surrounded him.

Underneath the image, the legend read: _Harry Potter: after winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. _

He moved his eyes down the page; eyes widening at the headline.

**Harry Potter Withdraws from Hogwarts**

**Attempt on his Life**

"_What?__"_whispered Ron. "Attempt on his life?"

Hermione nodded. "It makes sense; they needed a reason why Harry did not show up after the holidays."

His eyes darted back to the article and began reading.

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has announced that Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, has withdrawn from school for the time being after an attempt was made on his life during the holidays.

It is believed he went to an undisclosed location with his friends, Pureblood Ronald Weasley and Muggleborn Hermione Granger, when he was attacked. At this present time, the Daily Prophet does not know who tried to take the life of The-Boy-Who-Lived. This attack happened just days after Mr. Weasley's own father was admitted into St. Mungo's from severe injuries.

This attack comes after months of both, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, claiming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned. With the lack of information available and the strange happenings surrounding him, it makes us at the Daily Prophet wonder if there is more going on than meets the eye.

"Of course there is more going on," Ron muttered. "Do you reckon—"

"_Shhh!__"_ whispered Hermione desperately. "Of course they are suspicious. Harry is known for getting into trouble and now, suddenly, something happens and he is withdrawing from Hogwarts."

Hermione glanced around before leaning closer. "The Ministry does not like this. All year they have been discrediting Professor Dumbledore and Harry, they think he is trying to cry wolf—" He rose his eyebrows at the Muggle expression. "—and many think, like Fudge, that Dumbledore and Harry are trying to overthrow the Ministry or at least remove him from power."

Ron snorted, he had never heard something so ridiculous in his life.

"Ron!" He glanced back at Hermione and noticed she was pale. "They sent Professor Umbridge here to gain control of Hogwarts, to lessen Professor Dumbledore's power. They know Harry and Professor Dumbledore are close. They are going to think Dumbledore is training him, refusing to allow him under Ministry control."

"If Harry does not return soon, what do you think the Ministry will do?" he asked worriedly.

"They will try to remove Professor Dumbledore at all costs."

Suddenly this enormous problem just became even bigger.

By the end of the day, it seemed, that everyone knew Harry Potter had not returned to Hogwarts. Ron could hear the whispers as they passed. The students at Hogwarts watched them, not even bothering to hide their curious stares. It felt weird to be the centre of attention. They had always been whispered and glanced at, but it was because of Harry. They were always looking at Harry; for being the Boy-Who-Lived. Now they were staring at the place he was supposed to be.

Most of the students were just curious, but Draco Malfoy had a grin on his face and was strutting through the hallways like he owned the castle.

"Did Potter get scared?" Malfoy drawled after Transfiguration. "Did he finally realise that anywhere he goes, he will endanger others."

He flashed back to the night of the attack, where Lucius Malfoy laughed at Harry's pain. Ron snarled, reaching for his wand. Malfoy hurt his friend, Ron would hurt his son.

Hermione tightly grabbed his arm, digging her nails into his skin.

"Back off, Malfoy, unless you want a repeat of third year."

Malfoy sneered but left, his goons following behind him.

"You need to keep your temper under control, Ron." she berated him.

"He insulted Harry!" he snapped.

"I know! Do you think I did not want to curse him? Of course I did." She gave a small smile. "But at least we know one thing, Malfoy, nor any of the other Death Eaters' sons, know about Harry."

Ron sighed softly.

By the end of the day Ron was exhausted. He dropped his bag and flopped onto the couch with a welcoming groan. "Is this what it feels like to be Harry Potter?"

Hermione snickered.

That night they parted early and Ron closed his curtains, fending off his dorm-mates as he settled down for a long night of nightmares and horrors.

The next day was similar to the day before. He rose with the rest of his dorm-mates and headed off to breakfast, answering the questions they had with vague answers.

Hermione was already there, munching on some toast.

"Lavender and the other girls interrogated me for half the night, wanting details of what happened."

"What did you say?" asked Ron.

"I told them it was none of their business and—" As she talked she unwrapped the morning paper. "That—"

"Oh My God! Ron!"

Hermione looked horrified. The hand that was resting on the paper was shaking. He debated reaching for it.

"What?" he questioned, leaning over her shoulder to glance at the paper.

The font page was filled with photos of dirty wizards. He glanced over the images, reading the legends.

_Bellarix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom._

She looked insane, her hair was unkempt and mangled and she had an arrogant smile resting on her features, as if she was proud of what she had done.

_Antonin Dolohov, _Ron knew that name from somewhere. The wizard was pale and had a twisted and sneering face. _Convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. _

He felt his heart drop. This was the man who murdered his uncles.

"Why?" he questioned weakly.

Hermione said nothing but pointed at the headline with a shaking finger.

**Mass Breakout From Azkaban**

**Ministry Fears Black is ****"****Rallying Point****"**

**For Old Death Eaters**

His eyes widened. Oh Merlin.

He quickly read the article, feeling angry at the accusations on Sirius, the worry that the Death Eaters were free and fury at the idiocy of the Ministry.

Harry was alone with the darkest Death Eaters, the ones who admitted to their killings and were proud to go to jail for the Dark Lord.

"We need to save him," Ron murmured quietly. "We can't let them - can't let Voldemort have him."

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape.

"What?" he hesitantly questioned and feeling slightly nervous at her reaction.

"You said Voldemort."

He blinked. He did and had not even noticed. He realised that the last few days he had not flinched at the name either.

The fear for Voldemort was not as strong as the hatred of him and the desire to save his best friend.

No longer would he fear Voldemort's name.

* * *

This is one of the easiest chapters I had to write for some reason. I only had trouble with a few parts and that was mostly trying to put certain scenes together to fit. There is some weaker areas in this chapter, more-or-less in the middle (it is hard to write a scene with so many people) but I think I did a fairly good job.

I love how the ending turned out though, so much better than I had hoped.

Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! :D


	4. In the Belly of the Beast

**Published: **7/24/2011 - 7406 words**  
**

**Gone  
Chapter 4: **In the Belly of the Beast

_The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out a wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open. _

_He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand…_

"_Lily, take Harry and Go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand!... He laughed before casting the curse…_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut… _

_He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear… _

…_and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead…_

"_Not Harry, no Harry, please not Harry!"_

"_Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now."_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"_

"_This is my last warning—"_

"_Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please— I'll do anything—"_

"_Stand aside. Stand side, girl!"_

_The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. _

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_And then he broke: he was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of a ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away… _

_Now, he stood, strong and alive, surrounded by his faithful servants. For 13 years he had been less than a spirit, less than the meanest ghost, forced to live off others to survive; thanks to Lily Potter… But he had his revenge… Her son was his. _

"_Harry Potter is mine!..." He embraced the cheers._

_He had won… Soon the Ministry would fall and he would rule forever…_

Harry awoke, sucking in air harshly enough to make his chest ache. He could still hear the sounds of his mother's pleas and the look of absolute fear upon her face.

It had felt as if it was he who casted those spells, just like when he was the snake… Somehow— he just knew— he had seen through Voldemort's eyes.

Their connection had strengthened, and he had a sickening feeling he knew why.

He was in an unfamiliar room, lying on a massive bed beneath a ceiling made of a dark red coloured wood and a crown molding of dragons and wizards that actually moved. He could tell it was the dead of the night by the heavy stillness in the air, the flicking torches that lined the walls, and the fire crackling in the onyx hearth. He was drenched in sweat; he could feel it on the sheets and blankets.

Panels of dark wood lined the walls with masks, paintings and other objects hanging. In one corner there was a large chair— not unlike the ones Professor McGonagall had created in Dumbledore's office— and three large bookcases.

He could not deny that the room held some sort of majestic beauty but it held little satisfaction. He was not exactly sure what to feel with the arrangement; he had been expecting a small cell in the dungeon not a fancy room fit for nobility. It made him feel as if he was an esteemed guest instead of a prisoner.

He sat up, his hands tightening on the soft sheets as he groaned. He felt as if he had been beaten with bludgers in an all contact Quidditch match.

The sheets fell off from him and he winced as cold air hit his bare chest —

He ripped off his sheets, surprise overcoming him as he realised he was clad in nothing but his pants. Someone had undressed him; Harry involuntarily shivered, goose bumps rising on his skin.

Harry ran his fingers down his arm and across his torso. He could still feel tender skin of bruises and rough lines that were once large gashes, but someone had healed his potentially fatal injuries. He knew he should look and see how bad his remaining injuries were, but he couldn't. He did not want to face the truth.

_Pop!_

Harry leaped to grab his wand… That he no longer had.

A House-Elf stood in front of him, draped in what looked to be a pink and red tablecloth.

"Master!" the House-Elf fell to one knee in front of him. "Do yous require anything, Master? Food? Water? Oh! Master's injuries do not bother him do they…?"

"Um… No—" The House-Elf began to bounce up and down excitedly. "I hopes I did not keeps Master Harry waiting? No, no, n—"

"Er…—"

"—I wants to make good impression for—"

"Who are you?" Harry interrupted. The House-Elf did not seem insulted at all as she, or so Harry believed (he wasn't really sure…), leapt to her feet with a large grin.

"I is Mykola, Master! The Great Master named me. It means victory!" How fitting, he thought darkly. "The Great Master told Mykola to heal Master Harry and take care of Master Harry every desire. Mykola has been given to Master Harry and is Master Harry's personal House-Elf, Sir!"

He stomach gave a lurch, the new questions emphasizing the sickly feeling brought by the pain. What the hell was Voldemort planning? Voldemort placed him in a palace-sized room, healed him and then gave him a _breathing and thinking_ creature to take care of his every need. Voldemort wanted him to be swayed by the power he had been presented with but Voldemort had been wrong; Harry never wanted power, never desired it and he certainly did not want anything from Voldemort.

"I just want to go home." he quietly said, flinching away as her small arms reached for him. He did not want to be touched.

"Mykola can't do that, Master Harry. Great Master has forbidden it." Mykola reached forward again, touching the tainted arm.

He yanked his arm away from her and saw the mark he had tried to tell himself did not exist. The mark of evil, the mark he had sworn never to wear, just resting almost _innocently_ on his skin.

If only he could have died instead, died last year when Voldemort arose, died in the Chamber so many years ago. This path would damn him, in one way or another and require more bravery than he had. He felt his fingers tremble as he clung to the bed, his nails digging into the comforter like a life-line.

His friends seemed a long ways away, in a far off land that he could never reach. It had been _so long _since he had seen them. There had been no goodbyes, no apologizes and there would never be. This was something they could not take together and, for that, he was entirely grateful.

He had saved them, and though he was afraid of the future, afraid of what might happen and who he might become, he would have not changed a thing. For his friends, he would face this nightmare and he would escape.

His heart was screaming to escape, to go back to Hogwarts, to go _home. _

If only he was a normal child, not the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, _defender of the good, _and the one who was always in danger. He would be taking Cho out to Hogsmeade, laughing with his friends— carefree, happy, and relaxed— seeing, talking, and laughing with his parents.

"Just leave," he forcefully said. She did not move. "Be gone! Leave me alone!"

._._.===._._.

The room was trashed. Objects that once hung from the wall were scattered on the ground or hung crookedly against the wall. Pieces of shattered vases and stone statues were littered all across the floor. In the corner, the bookshelf was barren, the books tossed carelessly onto the floor, some open with titles of the Dark Arts, Blood Magic and personal journals from long ago. The chairs had been dismembered and the couches ransacked and by the entrance doors sat a black haired boy, his face in his hands, with pieces of wood and small miscellaneous objects scattered about.

The sun was coming up, but he did not care. He could see the light begin to fill the room, and through the unbreakable windows— could look over a valley blanketed in snow that glittered silently from the rising sun.

Without realising it, he was digging his fingers into his arms as if he were trying to resist physical pain. He was trapped; everything he had tried had been useless. There were no secret escapes or hidden keys, no one there to help or save him. He had not felt so helpless in years, not since he was a child trapped within his cupboard for days on end.

The torches were beginning to fade as the winter day—

Harry leapt forward, yanking down a torch from the wall, not caring about the glass underneath his feet.

He fell to his knees, ripping off the decorations surrounding the flame, and thrusting it into a pile of cloth. _Burn, _He repeated like a chant inside his mind, _burn, burn, burn! _

The cloth did not even smoke as the light from the torch shone through the cloth, casting the area in a blue glow. He ran his hand over the fabric and found the light to be giving off no heat at all.

Harry fell back against the door with a muffled cry. He could feel his hair brush across his face as his head hung bowed. Slowly, Harry wrapped himself up, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around. He sunk his head into the crevice he had created, something he had often done when he was young.

"Master Harry…" her voice was soft and quiet. "Let Mykola run a bath for Master Harry."

She grasped his arm and guided him through the field of debris. Harry had treated her horribly, screaming at him when she approached, and telling her to leave and how he would never be a House-Elf to Voldemort. How could she treat him so kind after everything he had done?

She chatted on about this or that when she ran the bath. Her words were soothing, he was not completely alone.

When the door closed, Harry stepped into the bath. He could see his reflection from across the room, his bruised and scarred torso, his sunken eyes and the hideous mark on his arm.

Harry wanted to scream something inaudible and slam his fist into the mirror shattering what he was seeing. He would rather feel physical pain than this hopelessness.

He wanted, so badly, to carve the mark out of his skin and be untainted once more. As he stared at his reflection, he knew that removing the mark would not have mattered. Somehow, he knew the mark was like his scar, the magic imbedded was deeper then what was at the surface.

They were thrice marked; by death, by blood and by service.

He cared little of Arithmancy, but he knew from Hermione that three was a powerful number.

The water rose as he sunk to the tub, his fingers resting on the first mark Voldemort had given him.

When Harry left the bathroom, draped in a blue bathrobe, he was astonished to find the room spotless. The glass and stone pieces that had littered the floor— Harry had tried to cut the lock with them— were complete statues and vases, the chairs he had disfigured— to use as a makeshift hammers— had been fixed and the paintings and miscellaneous objects placed in their rightful place.

"Master Harry!" the House-Elf shouted happily. "Sit down and eat, if Master Harry so desires."

Harry turned towards the table, food piled high upon the plates. It had been a long time since he had last eaten, his stomach growled unpleasantly. He sat down at the table.

"Does Master Harry enjoy the food?" Harry gave a small nod and smile, which made Mykola beam.

"Mykola?" The House-Elf stopped cleaning and turned towards him. "How long have I been here?"

Between the cracks of his fingers, Harry saw Mykola smile sadly. "The new year is upon Mykola and Master Harry. You has been here four days."

The amount of time stunned Harry. He had known he had been here at least two days, but four? What was happening outside these walls?

"Mykola?" He found himself asking.

"Yes, Master Harry?" He grimaced. "Just Harry," he said softly. "Please call me Harry."

Those large blue eyes grew even bigger as she stuttered, "B-but…"

Harry just shook his head with a small smile on his face. "Just Harry," he responded.

The small House-Elf returned the smile. "What does Harry wish for then?"

"By any chance, can I have the Daily Prophet for the last few days?" Mykola nodded and once again vanished. A few minutes later, Harry was sitting at the table, with the latest newspapers spread across it.

Harry scanned the titles quickly. There was no notice of Voldemort, or of himself, it was like nothing had happened. He let out a sigh of relief, if the Wizarding world got wind of what happened, they would plaster it all over the news and he would be forever damned.

When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Soon Hogwarts would start, if he could not escape by then, what was Dumbledore going to tell the public? They would demand to know where the Boy-Who-Lived was.

"Harry?" piped up Mykola. Harry turned to her. "Would you like Mykola to gets you clean clothes?"

He nodded and she was off.

Thanking Mykola, he quickly dressed. Like everything in the room, his clothes felt as if they were made of silk, or some other expensive material. He moved in front of the mirror and groaned.

He looked like a bloody Malfoy.

._._.===._._.

"_Today, I managed to use my curse—_"Harry pulled the book closer to him._"—on my enemy. I have spent years creating this curse for this moment and it worked perfectly. I watched as she relived every curse, every injury and every emotional pain I had ever experienced. I watched as her skin turned black with bruises and heard the sound of her bones snapping as she screamed. The human body should only handle so much before they become unconscious, but I had perfected this curse, it kept her alive until the end. Finally, she knew the pain she had caused me."_

Reaching the end of the passage, Harry glanced upwards, leaning his head against the cushions of the couch. Surrounding him were numerous books, both dark and light. For the past two days, he had glanced through at least a dozen non-Dark Arts books, and found nothing to help him escape. Knowing his only chance of escaping was with the books he skipped over; he began, with a heavy sigh, to pick up the darker and definitely illegal books.

It was then when he had found the small leather-bound book which had been crammed in the side of the bookshelf. It was a journal of sorts, filled with spells the writer had created. It was crude and the author was twisted, but Harry was enthralled. The author crafted dozens of spells for a single purpose— revenge against the ones who murdered his family.

The days passed slowly. He saw the snow build in the valley, before being washed away by the English drizzle. He had found hundreds of spells that would have allowed him to leave, but they all required a wand. With a groan, he sunk back into the chair, opening the leather-bound book again as Mykola appeared in the room and began to shuttle around.

"Oh!" It was a muffled sound, Harry looked up. The front half of Mykola's body was underneath the cabinet.

"Are you stuck?" He sat up, placing the journal on the small table to his left.

"No, no! Mykola is fine!" She sounded nervous as she retreated from the small space.

She had something in her hand; it looked to be a book of some sort. She approached him slowly, her small body shaking and her eyes to the floor. "Mykola never n-noticed the book."

He could see her eyes beginning to fill with tears. "Mykola… It's okay." He reached out to touch her shoulder. The moment he touched her, she thrust the book into his hands and vanished, leaving behind a bewildered boy.

Harry glanced down at the book and froze. In large black letters read the words, _The Truth about Blood and Magic. _It was a book on Blood Magic, something that had been almost completely banned in the last 100 or so years. Ron had told Hermione and him once that Blood Magic was beyond evil, only capable of destruction and death, but it had been blood magic that kept him safe when he was in his relatives' house. It was also the reason why Voldemort was alive again. With shaking hands, he opened the cover.

._._.===._._.

It seemed that Blood Magic was fairly common in the Middle Ages; it only started becoming illegal in the late 17th century. By the time of the Great Treaty Wars (otherwise known as the Great War or World War One by Muggles) the Blood Arts had been almost entirely banned.

"_There is magic in our blood—" _the book had begun with. _"—just like there is magic in a Phoenixes' feather or a piece of hair from a Veela. We use magical creatures to build our wands and channel our magic but forget that our own blood can be a conductor for our power. While we do not use blood as a core in our wands (as it tends to produce some very nasty effects if someone, other than the owner, even barely touches the wand), Blood Magic can be incredibly useful. _

_It was the Romans who brought us our first wands and taught us the first spells but we had always had power. Blood was our magic; we used it to power our spells. There were large rituals that could create rain, change seasons and curse our enemies; they were all powered by blood, sacrifice and intent—"_

While Blood Magic had potential to cause chaos and destruction, it seemed useful. Blood would help any protection be stronger, could tie families together (such as a magical adoption between families) and just might be the key to his escape.

Harry sighed loudly, his scar was prickling again.

He sat at the small table, with four books hazardly sprawled open and _The Truth about Blood and Magic_ in his hand. His eyebrows were furrowed as he read: _"Even now, Blood Magic has its uses with modern magic; with just a few simple runes and a dr—"_

His scar throbbed again and Harry snarled, throwing a history book from the table. Harry knew that Voldemort was pleased.

Each time his scar throbbed, he grew angrier. All he could think about was all the horrors he had faced in his lifetime because of Voldemort. Hogwarts was supposed to have been a paradise, a place where he could learn magic and make friends— not be hunted down like an animal and locked in a cage.

Looking at the door, Harry decided he had enough.

With a sharp piece of glass in one hand and rune dictionary in the other, he stomped to the door and dropped to his knees. He flipped open the book to the marked page, glanced at the door and began to work.

Using the piece of glass, he angrily carved runes into the door; open, unlock and break. Three was the second most powerful number; just coming in after seven (Harry could not find seven runes that were similar to open). The rune designs were crude but it would suit his purpose.

In a quick moment, he slit his left palm, and ran his bloody fingers down the runes and around the doorknob and hinges.

Harry sat back; another jolt of pain shot through his scar.

Harry wanted revenge against Voldemort— have him feel every single moment of agony that Harry had experienced in his life because of him. He wanted to see the Dark Lord bleed, his bones break and hear him screaming. Harry wanted to watch him beg for his life, like his mum did for him.

He wanted to be free of this room. He wanted to get out of this damned manor and back into Hogwarts, his true home. The door needed to unlock, allow him a chance to escape.

"OPEN!" Harry put everything into that one command— his hate, rage and desire for freedom.

The door shuttered, buckled, exploded outwards with a BANG!

_Bloody Hell. _The door should have unlocked or opened quietly, not creating a sound that would attract the entire manor. He knew he had only seconds before the sound would alert someone. Harry climbed over the door and darted down the hallway, daring anyone to try to stop him from escaping.

The hallway split into four corridors, and without pausing he turned towards the right and ran down it. He could distantly the sound of footsteps stopping.

"He escaped—"

"He could not have gone far. I will search for him, you will go tell the Dark Lord."

"_Point me Harry Po—"_

Harry ripped open a door to his left only to find it having a window that was an illusion of the outside.

He raced back to the corridor and turned down another. This corridor was decorated and even wider than the others.

"_Stupefy!"_

He ducked, the curse slamming into the wall to the side of him.

"I found Potter!" The Death Eater's voice echoed down the hall.

Harry ran faster, managing to dodge a Death Eater that appeared in front of him.

"_Incarcerous—"_

"_Stupefy—"_

The two spells collided with each other, causing Harry to twist around them as the rope imploded. He took off running again and saw the two sets of stairs that lead to the entree hall.

He sprinted down the steps, forcing himself to ignore the sharp pains in his sides and chest. He was almost there.

His desire to throw open the doors and escape this awful place, propelled him forward, gave him the skill and luck needed to dodge the spells that were lighting up the entree hall, and allow him to reach the massive entryway.

His hands, slick with sweat, grasped the two intricately carved handles, and began to force them downwards until a quarter of the way down the handles shuttered to a stop. To the left of him, a red curse struck the door, rattling the entire frame.

The door would not budge. It was locked.

Harry wanted to scream.

The Death Eaters were closing in on him, their aim increasing in accuracy, and he knew it was just a matter of time before he was rendered useless once more.

Pride, rage, and _hate _rose inside, building until he could hold it no longer. He was not about to be a puppet locked away in an ivory tower. He had escaped his room, he _would_ escape this hell. He turned to face his challengers head on.

The air around him _vibrated_ with magic, the temperature of the very air began to heat and wisps of wind began to flow around him. His magic was responding to his rage, his frustration, his fears, and was determined to protect him.

It was less than a second, he knew, before his magic reached a breaking point and _exploded. _The heat-charged air flung away from his body from all directions with a resounding boom. The Death Eaters, eyes wide, were flung backwards, the crystals and vases that lined the walls shattered and the door that held all his hope shook upon its very foundations.

_No. _

The door held strong, impenetrable— with a shaking hand he reached for the craved full-body cheetah handles and wished to Merlin that had become unlocked.

It hadn't.

He had been an idiot, he realised. There had been magical wars all throughout time; the front doors would have been made to resist all but the most powerful of magic.

There had to be another way, a servant's entrance perhaps, in which he could escape from.

With a final look at the non-responsive Death Eaters, Harry began to run down a hallway, fear prickling into his subconscious. He knew this escape was near impossible, but he had done the impossible before and was determined to do so again.

"What the hell happened?"

Harry froze instantaneously. The sound of footsteps began echoing along the corridors.

"I have no idea," a second, deeper, voice answered.

Harry took a slow step backwards, lightly stepping his foot down in order of keeping silent. He glanced around, hoping for cover to hide him but seeing none.

He went to turn around and run when two Death Eaters stepped around the corner.

They froze, their eyes widening slightly, before exchanging a glance with each other. Harry had never seen these Death Eaters before; they were tall, skinny and deathly pale with large circles under their eyes.

As he saw understanding dawn in the Death Eater's eyes, Harry sprinted forwards— towards the Death Eaters— hoping to catch them unaware and steal himself a wand. At this point, he had nothing left to loose.

It had been a useless effort as before he reached half way, he was slammed to the ground by a Full-Body Bind.

"Look at who we just found brother!" said one of the siblings. He could hear the Death Eater's feet as they neared "The oh-so wonderful Boy-Who-Lived himself!" He leaned over Harry with a leer. Harry felt the Death Eater's long hair slide across his neck.

"I have _always_ wanted to meet you— the boy who stopped our glorious revolution and sent my family to Hell." A hand grasped his shoulder, its nails digging into the skin. "And here you are, in our own Lords manor! Is it not amazing, brother?" He crackled, releasing the shoulder and rising.

"Yes," the other Death Eater voice was deep and thoughtful. "It is quite phenomenal."

There were new footsteps in the hallway now.

Harry watched the Death Eater retreat to face the newcomer.

"You caught Potter!"

"Of course we did, you incompetent idiot! We are the Dark Lord's most trusted. Go. Tell our Lord that Rodolphus and I will bring the boy."

If he could, Harry's eyes would have widened. Rodolphus… It was the name of Bellatrix's husband, the one who helped torture Neville's parents. Hadn't they been in Azkaban?

Now, Harry knew why Voldemort had been happy. With his heart breaking heavily, he watched Rodolphus' brother approach him again, kneeling down next to him.

"You were given a great honor, boy; a chance to redeem your blood and yet you act like your Mudblood mother." Harry struggled against the spell, trying to lunge at the Death Eater. "You are heir to the Potter legacy but you know nothing of our customs." He leaned back and his hostile expression turned thoughtful. "Perhaps it is not entirely your fault as you were raised by Muggle filth; oh, yes. I will have to teach you, boy, about pureblood customs."

The Death Eater grinned, his yellow teeth showing. "Boy, were you not aware that trying to steal a Pureblood's wand is a criminal offense?" He cocked his head and twisted his wand with his fingers. His eyes became feral. "Oh, yes it is. Taking a Pureblood's wand is the same as taking away their magic, the magic we are destined with. We cannot have Mudbloods steal our magic now, can we? Anyone who tries to steal a Pureblood wand can be put down with any means necessary and forced to suffer the punishment for trying." Harry's heart thumped wildly in his chest as the long brown wand was pointed at him. "Exciting is it not? Customs, that is."

The Death Eater leaned forward, pressing his finger to Harry's lips. "_Shhh! _I know you understand do not even try excuses. You know that punishment must be dealt. After all you did break a rule. I am afraid that punishment must be dealt."

Harry was unable to even close his eyes.

"Enough Rabastan," The brother said. "The Dark Lord has given us orders to bring the boy to him unharmed."

Rabastan's face twisted into a pout.

"But Brother…" he whined. "He was the reason why our Lord fell. It was _him_ who put us into Azkaban. He tried to steal my wand, Rodophus, _my wand!_"

"Do you think I do not wish to curse him as well." answered the other Death Eater. "The Dark Lord always knows. You will be discovered."

Rabastan snarled, his wand still pointed at Harry. His heart beat wildly when Rabastan waved his wand in an unfamiliar pattern.

Harry's immobile body rose into the air.

His heart, which had not calmed from the earlier scene, was hammering so hard it seemed impossible that the two Death Eaters could not hear him as he was brought through the hallways — if only he had a wand, if only he could move…

Unable to do anything, he was forced to watch the hallways change as he was brought closer to Voldemort. Harry could feel it when they approached, like always his scar began to prickle before turning into a nasty throb.

He felt coldness sink into his stomach as they came to a stop in front of a dark French door. One of the Death Eaters stepped forward, entering Harry's line of sight before knocking on the door.

"My Lord," the Death Eater began. "We have captured Potter, he tried to escape."

There was a moment of silence, where Harry's heart stopped, before the doors creaked open.

They were moving again, entering a dark room, where torches burned along the walls. His scar burned painfully.

Harry was brought just a few steps into the ominous room before he was discarded, his body falling— still immobile— to the ground.

Rabastan and his brother were both on one knee, their head tilted downwards. It sickened him how much control Voldemort had over his Death Eaters.

"Two of my most faithful, you have impressed me again." The hissing sound of Lord Voldemort's voice sounded across the room, as footsteps echoed as he approached. "Leave me; I must speak to Harry alone."

Harry's stomach gave a jerk, as the Death Eaters rose and backed away before locking Harry alone with one of the most powerful Dark Lords ever to live.

His scar, once again, burned as Voldemort took a step closer. Harry's arm automatically reached out to rub the aching scar and froze half way to its destination.

Harry sat up, scrambling to his feet within seconds and looking at Voldemort for the first time since his capture. He was smirking, his hand holding the yew wand.

"I had expected it would take longer for you to escape. I am quite impressed."

"You knew I would escape?" Harry blurted, standing his ground.

Voldemort twirled in wand in his fingers. "Of course I did, Harry. Why do you think the House-Elf found the book you needed at the perfect moment?"

Mykola… It felt like a bucket of ice had been dropped over his head; he never even had a chance for real freedom.

Voldemort slowly began to pace from side to side, never taking his eyes off of Harry. After a few seconds or so, a smile appeared, twisting his snakelike face. "My, my, I was surprised with how quickly you turned to forbidden magic to accomplish your deeds and even more impressed by your attempted escape. You possess an intriguing amount of anger in order to force your magic to respond, and respond with such destruction against my Death Eaters."

Voldemort laughed and Harry could hear something sliding across the wooden floors, hissing as it went.

"Once again I am compelled to admit just how similar we really are." Voldemort tilted his head, studying Harry as if he was a complex puzzle. "Our magic… It thrives on anger — unfolds to show the world our true potential in times of violence."

"Our magic is nothing alike," Harry snapped. "Anyone would have been angry and desperate to escape if they had been locked in a room by their enemy."

Side to side Voldemort paced, ignoring Harry's building frustration, as he glanced around the room.

"Would your friends have done the same? The Mudblood and Blood Traito—"

"Do _not_ talk about my friends," he said forcefully. Ron would have done the same thing… right? And no one would have been able to keep Hermione locked away, she was too brilliant.

Voldemort went on, acting as if he had not heard the outburst; "Can they become enraged enough to decimate a door? Or blast Death Eaters, _people_, across the room and not care?" Harry fumed, grinding his teeth together to keep silent. All he wanted to do was escape and they tried to stop him and his magic responded. He _never_ wanted to seriously hurt them, even if they were Death Eaters.

And yet, this year he had felt so _angry_ all the time.

"We are survivors, Harry Potter." Voldemort stopped pacing in front of him, those red eyes locked upon his own. "We do what is needed to survive, to win; even if it cruel or wrong." Harry could not look away from monster in front of him. "You scream at your friends and demand the truth while the people who are supposed to protect you, lock you away, forcing you to learn the truth on your own." His scar was burning so fiercely that he wanted to scream in agony, if he was able to scream at all. "Your emotions are so volatile; so dangerous; like a storm brewing at sea. My boy, you have so much potential… I can _taste_ it."

Then it was over, Voldemort had turned away, leaving Harry stumbling forward. _What was that?_ It was awful, his limbs would not move and in the back of his mind he had _felt _something, like a small slimy snake forcing its way inside. He felt dirty as if Voldemort had tainted him by the few minutes Harry had spent in his presence. Each time they had met, Voldemort commented on their similarity… Why were they so much alike? During that night, on Halloween, did Harry receive more of Voldemort than just his gift for Parseltongue? Was Harry destined to become evil?

_"It is our choices Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."_

The words of Albus Dumbledore rang in his ears and it filled him with strength. Regardless what happened that Halloween night or how similar they really were; Harry had the power over himself. No one— not even Voldemort, could take that away from him.

Fill with hope; Harry glanced upwards, not realizing that his gaze had fallen to the ground. Voldemort had watched him; his eyes alit with something akin to amusement.

"You know, Harry. You have done what I wished for you to do. You managed to escape and at the same time impress me. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort rewards those who are faithful to him."

Harry snarled soundlessly at the proclamation of him being faithful to Voldemort, but at the same time, Harry was jolted by what Voldemort was saying. Voldemort reached into his robe and pulled out a holly wand — Harry's wand.

"I will give you a chance to win your freedom, Harry," Voldemort said softly and dangled Harry's wand from his fingers. "All you have to do is make me bleed. I will not even attack you." Voldemort stretched out his arm, Harry's holly and phoenix wand resting in his hand. "Make me bleed, Harry, and you shall be _free._"

Harry was breathing rapidly, his wand holding his complete attention. All he had to do was make Voldemort drip a single drop of blood and he would be free.

With the reflexes learned from his Quidditch training, Harry snatched his wand from Voldemort and cradled it in his hands. Warmth swept through his body and sparks of gold, green and silver exploded from the tip. He felt complete.

Voldemort looked bemused, Harry noticed, as he shifted into a fighting stance.

"Ah, Harry," Voldemort spoke up. "I hope you did not forget the etiquette I was forced to teach you last year. This is a duel after all." Voldemort bended forward slightly, his red eyes watching Harry's every move.

Harry stiffened.

"…_Bow to Death, Harry…"_

"Must we repeat what happened last year?" Voldemort softly asked while taking a step forward, his wand raising. "I was being so _kind_ as well, offering you freedom."

"_I said,_ bow_…" Harry felt his spine curve…_

For his freedom, he would set aside his pride, and so Harry bowed — his face taut and his fingernails digging into his palms and desperately grasping onto his wand.

"_Diffindo!" _

The invisible spell shot through the air as Harry retreated from the bow and a few feet to the side, calling out another Severing Charm.

He barely watched Voldemort raise a translucent shield, absorbing the impact of the two spells, before Harry launching a series of attacks.

One of his Bombarda Charms went wide, causing splinters of wood to rain upon the floor. The other spells; a mixture of Severing and Bombarda charms were easily blocked with a swish of Voldemort's wand.

"Do you really think you could hurt me with these first year spells?" The Dark Lord taunted. "Are you really so weak, Harry?" He took a step to the right, allowing a red-tinted spell to pass by. "—using spells that were designed to not tear into human flesh—?"

"_Confringo!" _Harry shouted, the Blasting Curse hurling from his wand— only to be disintegrated mere feet from his wand.

"_Incendio!" _The spell was torn apart, the flames sputtering and dying.

With a wordless snarl, Harry sent forth a barrage of spells, Blasting, Flame and Reductor Curses, while moving across the room and looking for any opening. Voldemort never even moved as he tore apart or redirected the curses. Not a single spell neared him.

Becoming aggravated, Harry turned towards the walls, summoning the lanterns one by one and banishing them towards the Dark Lord. The room grew progressively darker as the sources of light were slammed into the walls with a flick of Voldemort's wand.

Harry could hear the sound of wood burning as he panted for air. Sections of the room crackled and popped as they caught fire from the flung lanterns.

"You are weak." Voldemort said while taking his first step forward since the fight began. "Are you already giving up?" he questioned.

"Never," Harry said, banishing the chair Voldemort had previously been sitting on, towards him. With a wave of Voldemort's wand, the chair exploded, causing Harry to dive for the floor to escape the debris of splinters.

He angrily pushed himself to his elbows, small woodchips falling to the ground as he moved.

"Useless." The Dark Lord Voldemort stood next to him, looking down with a sneer fitting for a prince.

With seeker reflexes, Harry rolled over and furiously shouted, _"Confringo!"_

The force of the curse caused his hand to buckle, making him grasp his wand tighter. He could see the outline of the almost invisible spell rush towards Voldemort, there was little time to do anything but watch. A near opaque shield formed around Voldemort, causing the spell to ricochet into the floor.

"I was sincerely hoping for a challenge. It may have been a foolish wish but I had heard about all your adventures. You are just a weak nobody."

The room was beginning to fill with smoke as Harry pulled himself up from the ground and pointed his wand at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord took a step to the right, not even bothering to look at the wand. "I was told that you were one of the best, someone with enough skill to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts but look at you. You cannot even make someone bleed." Harry clutched his wand tighter.

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed.

"_Scindio!" _bellowed Harry, slashing his wand downward.

The Rendering Curse slammed into Voldemort's shield as if it was a sword, the near transparent spell sliding down the protective barrier.

_Those bloody shields._

Moving to the right, Harry attempted a shield breaker, he saw in _The_ _Aurors' Guidebook, _and watched it fail dramatically— not even managing to dent the shield.

His anger molded his magic, as he roared out another harmful curse, _"Perseco!"_ He wanted to see Voldemort's blood dripping on the ground, his face in agony.

But Voldemort parried the curse, sending it blasting into the wall.

Harry began another series of attacks, using spells he had assumed he would never use. Yet, nothing went through. Voldemort managed to block, avoid or parried, every curse he sent.

Harry went to something beyond anger and suddenly everything seemed bright and sharp and clear. It was like passing through fire to reach ice. He was numb to everything in the world except to cause this monster pain. This is what hate felt like.

…_she relived every curse, every injury and every emotional pain I had ever experienced…_

He twisted his wand into a complex pattern and thought about the pain Voldemort put him through.

"_Arderus Memoriam!"_

"Enough!" There was a loud POP and Harry soared backwards, slamming into the ground again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear the sound of his own breathing and the flames crackling across the floor as Voldemort closed in and looked down where he laid, wandless and defenseless as he had been when he entered.

Voldemort seemed to wavier between anger and amusement, his eyes flashing and his hand on his wand tightening before he broke into a grin. "Do you feel changed, Harry— as if you were tainted by the Dark spells you used? Of course not. There is no good or evil in magic, just intent, Harry Potter. "

Harry turned and dived for his wand and Voldemort slashed at the air; Harry felt a whiplike something hit him across the chest, forcing him backwards into the wooden floor. For a moment all the breath seemed to have gone from his body. He struggled to sit up, but found himself unable. His head still swimming from the contact with the ground, he saw Voldemort standing before him, his wand steadily pointing at him.

"Though I admire your determination… It is quite fair to say that you have lost. You will stand down, behave and do as I say. Do you think I captured you on a silly whim? I am Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard alive. Every plan that goes through your mind, I would already know and planned for. Try as you might, Harry Potter, but you will not escape."

With the yew wand lowering, Harry felt the weight of the spell disappear, allowing him to rise and grasp his wand.

"You have proved yourself once again. You duel well, and I am pleasantly surprised at the skill you have with the Dark Arts. If I did not know better, I would have assumed you had tampered with the arts long before now."

Harry said nothing, a sense of uneasiness filling him.

"I will leave you your wand, as you will need it tomorrow morning."

Voldemort turned away and lazily flicked his wand. The fires were instantly extinguished and the broken objects began to fix themselves. He swirled his wand and his throne chair came together and he sat.

While the walls still showed signs of the battle with scars of soot and splintered wood, everything inside the room looked to be untouched.

* * *

I am finally done with this chapter. I am so sorry it took so long to post. I rewrote this chapter 3 times... It really did kill me. Hopefully no other chapter would take so long. I am moving across the country to go to University in two weeks, so it might be a few months before I can post again. Sorry. I swear I won't abandon it.

This is unedited. My beta reader disappeared so I am looking for a new one. If you are interested, PM me. I don't really need a grammar beta but someone who can help me talk about plots and making sure my chapters make sense (and how I can improve them).

Hopefully you like this chapter, this is our last "prologue" type chapter, the story is really going to pick up from here on out.


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